


The Ascent of the Eiger

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mountaineering, Mountains, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: Mountaineering is a nascent sport, with climbers all over trying to reach heights no man has ever tackled before. With most European peaks as yet unclimbed, there's a long way to go before all summits are claimed. A dedicated climber himself, Arthur decides to get to the top of the Eiger, a 3,967 meter giant in the Bernese Oberland of Switzerland, and opts for the hardest route to do so. Gathering a team of expert Alpinists around him and  hiring mountain guide Merlin Emrys, he sets off to complete the challenge. The road to the summit is long and hard.





	The Ascent of the Eiger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/gifts).



> [](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11850450/)
> 
>  
> 
> Working on ACBB is always a pleasure. It's a way of keeping one's toes dipped in the Merlin world and having fun while doing so. This year I was so lucky as to collaborate with a wonderful artist, lfb72, whose art was always a surprise and a beauty to behold. Her work is to die for; it's got a very special vibe, and it's brilliant and vibrant. All her illustrations were wonderful, and a gift I'll always be proud of.  
> This story would be much the worse for wear if it weren't for my beta, ji_ang, whom I thank from the bottom of my heart for correcting all my mistakes and tightening up my sentences. Many thanks also go to aeris444 for giving flow advice and for pre-reading the semi final product. A mega shout out goes to the mods for opening the fest up for sign ups and making it possible in the first place.
> 
>  
> 
> [Art: Ascent of the Eiger](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11850450/)

[](http://imgur.com/FZD5Jzv)

London, 28 May 1858

The club opened its solemn doors to Arthur. Two servants wearing tailed jackets and starched collars under flowing cravats bowed at his entrance, welcoming him in. They collected Arthur's cane, gloves, and hat, and allowed him to step through. The atrium was vast and colonnaded, with a frescoed ceiling across which angels and harp-bearing muses chased each other on a clouded background. A balcony crossed it from east to west, ending in two marble staircases encased by polished mahogany balustrades.

Freed from encumbrances, Arthur climbed the stairs, crossed galleries whose windows gave onto the Mall and whose alcoves housed plinths on which busts stood, and passed into the library. It was an ample chamber stretching across the whole east wing. Bookcases lined the full length of the walls, the club's collection on display. 

Sitting down in a wide, leather armchair, Arthur poured himself a whisky without ice. He might have waited for an attendant to do it for him, but he was served hand and foot at home and he didn't require the same attention here.

He was sipping his drink when another man entered the empty room. Lancelot was tall and dark haired, with hefty sideburns and a gentle smile.

He crossed the chamber “My dear Arthur.” He offered his hand, his serene expression unaltered. “I hope I'm not late.”

“Not at all.” Arthur put down his glass and shook hands with his new companion. “I was early myself.”

Lancelot sank in the chair opposite, accepting some scotch from Arthur. “So what prompted our meeting?”

“I suppose you might have an inkling.”

Lancelot, Arthur knew, always kept abreast of this kind of news. 

"I hear," said Lancelot, “that you're planning an expedition. The Konigspitze, it's what they told me.” 

"No, I'm not aiming for the Monte Rosa.” Arthur had considered the idea but discarded it. “An expedition summited last year. I want a fresh enterprise. A task nobody has succeeded at before. A challenge no one else has taken up previously. A...a...” Putting his dreams into words was hard for Arthur. He didn't want to come across as a man entertaining delusions of grandeur. 

Lancelot inclined his head. “So what are your plans, my friend?”

Arthur hadn't finalised them yet, but the decision was made, so he could share that much. “I want to try the Eiger.”

“Are you trying the West Face?” Lancelot asked, locking his fingers together and placing his hands on his chest, elbows on the armchair. 

Arthur should have foreseen such a question. Before answering it, he poured himself some more whisky. Only this time, he watered it down. He drank a sip, tasting the woodsy, smoky taste of the concoction. “I want to try the North Face.”

Eyes widening, Lancelot coughed. “Pardon?”

“I want to try the North Face.”

“But that's surely the hardest side to tackle,” Lancelot said, drinking some of his own scotch. “The northern drop falls into a terribly steep valley; the giant cliff face losing itself into the mist.” He looked at Arthur with concern. “The fissures of the upper summit mass are cavities where the smooth rock is ruptured more deeply, eternal snow clings there.”

“I know all that.” Arthur had read about and researched the area thoroughly. 

Lancelot shook his head, kneading his thigh, before crossing and uncrossing his legs. “I maintain that access from the West Flank and the West Ridge is easiest.”

“I fully understand that.” Previous expeditions had undertaken that route. They had failed. But that was the path usually chosen, Arthur was aware. I, however, want to try the North Face.”

Lancelot took his time before commenting. They listened to the grandfather clock ticking, the coming and going of the club patrons, the ghosting about of various servants. One cleared up Arthur's glass and offered a refill, but Arthur declined. Lancelot cradled his drink, which he hadn't yet finished, and was left alone by the staffer. “So, why did you want me here today?”

“You were one of the party when I made my first ascent and your latest book is an excellent example of mountaineering journalism. I want you to write about the expedition.”

Lancelot scrutinised him deeply. “That's a request to take part.” 

“Indeed it is.” Arthur let Lancelot read his expectations on his face. There was no reason to be any less than transparent. “I hope you'll take me up on the offer.”

Lancelot dropped his gaze, tapping a rhythm on his leg. “It's not that I don't want to join, my friend, he said. “But I intend to marry and...”

“You want to spend time with your wife to be.” It didn't take a genius to guess that. Lancelot and Gwen were in their honeymoon phase, irrespective of their wedding not having taken place yet. “But this wouldn't take you away for long.” Arthur had it all planned. “You'd join us at base. A few days to complete the ascent. A few days to recover down in the valley. And it'd be done.”

Lancelot pursed his lips, then sucked his lower one into his mouth and bit it. “You make it sound so easy but...”

Arthur cocked his head. “But?”

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Lancelot exhaled. “Don't get me wrong, my dear Arthur, but such an expedition would be risky. Your attempt may succeed and I wish it to, God knows I do. But such adventures are fraught with peril, and I promised my fiancée I wouldn't take similar risks again.”

“It's true that people die up on the mountains.” If it happened, theirs would not be the first expedition to lose a member, nor would it be the last. But I've raked up a frightfully good team. We made the Grossglockner and the Ortler before--”

“All of which were successfully claimed by other Alpinists,” Lancelot said. “This is a very different sort of challenge, one which has no precedents.”

Arthur couldn't lie, for that much was correct. He was deeply aware of every single risk he was exposing himself to. The Eiger was a six thousand foot bastion of rock and ice, impenetrable, insurmountable. It's true that no one has ever done it before, but I have hopes.”

“I wish you all the best.”

“So you're not coming.” Arthur could draw his conclusions for himself. “You'll stay here.”

Lancelot rubbed the side of his face with his thumb. “I haven't made the decision yet.”

Hope unfolded within Arthur. He'd judged Lancelot too early, too hastily; perhaps he would be amenable to being persuaded. Arthur saw his eyes spark, his body tense with excitement at the notion of this adventure. If Arthur showed him the upsides of his plan, Lancelot was eventually bound to accept. “I'll show you the maps and Elyan's sketches of the hardest passes.”

“About that...” Lancelot leant forward. “Who's on the expedition team?”

Arthur had long spoken to his friends about his plan to conquer the Eiger. As time went on, he had persuaded more and more Alpinists to join in. Now, he almost had a full team. “Leon, who you know from '54, is going to come. He's got an excellent track record and he's one of the wisest climbers I know.” If Leon said something was not to be attempted, then it wasn't. That was why Arthur had wanted him on board, why he'd been so adamant he be there. “Elyan will come along for more sketches.” He was such a fine artist, Arthur wanted to give him a chance to work on more of his creations, which couldn't happen if he was shut up in his London quarters. “Valiant Price will also join.” 

Lancelot's head snapped up. “I don't like him in the least.”

Neither did Arthur. But, there were reasons why he'd welcomed him on board. “He brings the money, Lancelot. I cannot possibly refuse him.”

“Pardon the indiscretion,” Lancelot said, “but I thought you were the money.”

Arthur sighed. He wanted to be honest and open about this. “I've spent almost everything I had from my mother on my previous expeditions—” He'd been quite liberal with that money, something that, in hindsight, he regretted, “—and my father refuses to fund this one.”

“He's helped fund others.” Lancelot tipped his head to the side.

Arthur couldn't, in all honesty, maintain that his father hadn't shelled out for his previous expeditions. That Father had done and quite willingly, too, at least at the time. But, he considered this one too dangerous and thus he'd done his utmost to prevent Arthur from setting out on it. “He won't have me going. This is is way of stopping me.”

“But you'll go.”

Arthur nodded. There was nothing else for him to say about the subject of his defiance. “I wouldn't have made the proposal otherwise.”

“I see,” Lancelot said. “So, you've got the money, a good expert climber, and a climber artist...”

“And you, hopefully.” Arthur hoped he could persuade Lancelot with all his cajoling. 

“But I haven't heard you mention one single guide.”

“You're the Swiss one.” Arthur knew that, although Lancelot loved London, part of his heart was still in Switzerland by the shores of Lake Geneva. “I suppose I'm hoping you could point out some local to me.”

“I wouldn't dare name names.” Lancelot shook his head. “But I do know of a couple of people, one in particular.”

Arthur understood Lancelot's reticence when it came to making a recommendation. He was a climber and, like Lancelot, he wouldn't put a name forward unless he had complete confidence. “Do tell. I'll weigh your answer myself.”

“There's Gaius Herz,” Lancelot said, humming thoughtfully. “He's been up and down passes all his life. He guided Henriette d'Angeville up the Mont Blanc back in '38. He's quite famous for that.”

Arthur moved his hands about. “And who's the other? I thought you said two.”

“None other than his nephew.” Lancelot smiled. “I know them both myself. The nephew is quite something. He's got a natural instinct for finding paths, ways to approach a mountain that will lead you to the top.”

If the uncle had led d'Angleville nearly twenty years ago, he couldn't be young and energetic. Arthur preferred a sprightly, strong guide. He wanted only the best. “Tell me more about the nephew.”

“Will hired him to get to the top of the Wetterhorn,” Lancelot said. “As you know, he succeeded. Merlin also went up the Aiguille de Tré-la-Tête, and nearly made the Aiguille de Bionnassay, but a storm caught them off guard and they had to get down before summiting. They'd just touched upon the Aiguille de Tricot, but the weather was against them.”

That seemed like a fine track record to Arthur. “No one's been as far up as Tricot before anyway.”

“No and besides that, you want a guide who knows when to turn back,” Lancelot said. “That way there's more of a chance of making it back at all.”

Arthur valued prudence. “Give me a way to contact him and I'll see if he can be hired.”

With a promise to do that and to think Arthur's offer over, Lancelot bid farewell. Arthur was left in the library, free to study the geography of the region he meant to conquer.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/QXYlqSJ)

Morgana put the book back on the shelf in the gap between two tall leather bound volumes, and turned around. She stopped to look at the table. Maps littered it. Some were folded, others splayed out on the table's surface. A number of them were of vast regions and others of small mountainous areas. Pins dotted them, highlighting passes and ridges, rock walls and plateaus. While a few were store bought, most of the maps were hand-traced--the geography of the regions drawn by direct observers, ready to jot down routes and trails the moment they discovered them.

With reverent fingers, Morgana touched the maps, following paths that led up to the White Spider, the arachnid-shaped ice field high on the north face of the mountain, towering above the town of Grindelwald. That, she was told, was the only way up to the peak of the Eiger. It was also a trap for climbers, for the Spider acted as a funnel, one strewn with rocks and plagued by slides cascading over the ice field from time to time, putting the climbers in great danger while on the field. 

She'd never been as far as this field of frozen snow. On their last expedition, she'd climbed as far as the North West Ridge or a little under it. She'd been with Elyan while he sketched the North Face, looking at the sheer and smooth precipice. The summit of the mountain had called to her. Arthur had been too busy directing the expedition and writing plans for the next day to notice, but she'd seen herself up there, watching the world below. 

She wondered now if she should have pushed for Arthur to get to the summit, if she should have prompted him more all the way up. Now, she traced the route with her fingers and saw it in her mind's eye. She was poring over a lovingly detailed map, when Arthur came in.

Straightening, she said, “I see you're not happy, brother.”

“I'm not sure I have Lancelot.” Arthur moved past her, closing the reference tomes that had been sitting open on the table. “He doesn't want to risk his life so close to his wedding.”

“Good.” This was a chance Morgana hadn't dared hope for. “I can come with then.”

Arthur looked up sharply. “No, you can't, Morgana.”

Morgana followed Arthur into the other room, watching as he flung himself upon an armchair. “Why? I was with you the last time. I was there for the Cairngoms, the Brenva Spur--”

“This is not as safe as a hike up in Scotland, Morgana.” Shadows played on Arthur's face as he sank into his seat. “Or a fraction of a climb. This--”

“The Rothorn,” Morgana continued. “I was there for all of those. I have the experience, Arthur.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/CpMV3qQ)

“You have some, experience,” Arthur told her. “But you have never tried something as hard as this. This is something seasoned climbers look upon with fear and awe.”

“You think I would be imprudent,” Morgana said, knowing what Arthur was thinking, “but I would be sensible.” Probably more than Arthur would be. He acted as though she didn't know he was ready to stake everything on his new plan. That was why their father was so angry. Uther was temperamental, but he wasn't crazy. “I won't push it if the conditions don't allow for it. But I also won't sit at home like a proper lady, ordering servants about, while you're up there risking your life.”

“That's the point!” Arthur stabbed the finger of one hand into the palm of the other. “Risking one's life.”

“But you're allowed to? While I'm not!” Morgana wanted to scream. She wanted to pull at her hair or maybe scratch Arthur's face like a fed-up cat. But she knew that would avail her nothing. It wouldn't change Arthur's mind. It wouldn't give her the upper hand. It would only cause Arthur to entrench himself further in his position. 

“It's not a question of allowing.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I--” he pursed his lips, his gaze going vacant as he sought the answer inward. “I can't let you risk your life. If something happened to you, well, I would never forgive myself.”

While Morgana appreciated the sentiment, she couldn't accept the basis for Arthur's reasoning. “But you can risk your life.”

“I hope not to!” Arthur gesticulated, losing his sang froid. “That's why I'm hiring the best guides. Studying previous attempts, records, memoirs! I won't go in blindly.”

“As if I wouldn't have the same guides as you do,” Morgana said. “As if I haven't studied all the maps and read all the books that you have.”

Arthur turned away, his profile sharper now that his lips were pressed together. “The fact remains: It is dangerous. And I don't want you to incur any danger.”

“Danger that you blithely expose yourself to!” Morgana threw her hands right up in the air. Sometimes she didn't understand how Arthur could fail to see how patronising he was being. “Why should it be different for me?”

Arthur lurched from the armchair and paced, the floor creaking under his weight. As he moved across the chamber, he shook his head. “It's simply different. It just is. Why can't you trust me?”

“It's because I'm a woman, isn't it?” She balled her fists. She wished she could stamp her foot, but she valued her image too much for that. She didn't want to come across as a child. “That's the truth of it, don't deny it.”

“That's nonsense, Morgana.” Arthur's brow got heavy with furrows. “I brought you along on other occasions. You simply haven't trained enough for this one.”

“I've almost as much experience as you!” Morgana's voice rose a notch. She really shouldn't have had to point out the obvious. Arthur should have been aware of that fact. He was there every time! “I'm a good climber. An expert climber.”

“My answer is no, Morgana.” His eyes flashed. They weren't as cold as their father's, but their gaze was as no nonsense as any of Uther's. “That's my final word on the subject.”He moved to the door, before stepping out of it, he added, “I'm doing this for your own good.”

He closed the door behind him.

Morgana threw the blue vase at it; the piece of china shattered in a hundred pieces.

[ ](http://imgur.com/FZihTpN)

They'd left behind the snows and glaciers of the South-Eastern face. The peak of the Grande Casse was behind them and there was a tangle of lower mountains around them with beds of white-clad rock giving way to hilly grassland, sometimes punctuated by small flowers, edelweiss and asters. The rain had held off all day, keeping all surfaces dry while shafts of sunlight sliced through clouds and dappled valleys and crags.

They stuck their _alpenstocks_ into the soil and toiled downwards. They went without rest for three hours, taking the switchback trail down towards the flat bottomed depression that formed the base of the Casse. Russet forests spread from there, on either side of paths that led to small Alpine lakes, which were crystalline and cold even so far into spring. 

Merlin made sure his team was all right. Alvarr Grant and Myror West were still in their prime, strong and seasoned, with a history of climbing various Swiss heights. Abraham Caerleon wasn't so young anymore and had offered proof of rashness; Merlin worried about him.

From time to time, he sent Caerleon a look, studied his gait, his pace. Though he limped, he was making good time and aside from a few grunts here and there, it didn't seem like he was in too much pain. The others weren't much better off either--their backs were bent, their breath was coming in quick hefty puffs, and the bindings around their hands were unravelling now their gloves had come off. 

Merlin knew what to do. “We can't get to Champigny before nightfall, anyway.”

That was not true. If he was alone with his sack, then he might have made Champigny for dinner. He could have had some warm ale and sup on roasted meet at the _Drachen _stube__. But Merlin couldn't think of himself on this occasion. He had people to guide off the mountain just as he'd led them up it.

Sweat ran into Merlin's eyes. His pulse thumped in his ears. After so many hours spent on his feet, the straps of his sack chafed his shoulders. If he could use a break, then so could the others. “We're stopping,” he said, pointing towards the shores of the closest lake. “We can add to our provisions, eat, and put up tents.”

His clients all agreed, some more vocally than others.

Once they'd put up camp, Merlin ditched his sack, took off his jacket, shed his shoes, rolled up his trousers and waded into the lake. The water was extremely cold. His skin pebbled, but the pain in his bleeding feet receded, his toes stopped smarting, and the soles of his feet untangled themselves from cramps. Watching the movements under the surface, he spotted the fish. Once he had them grouped together, he speared them one by one. 

His father had taught him. He had told him how to search the lake bed, how to be quick when hooking the fish, how to concentrate on the sounds of nature so as to be in tune with it. It was a testimony to the validity of his lessons, that, so many years later, Merlin could still catch himself four perches.

Sitting on a fallen trunk under the setting sun, Merlin took the speared fish and set it over the fire Myror had got going.

“Looking forward to some food,” Alvarr said. “It's been how long since we last ate?

“Ten hours at the very least.” Myror shifted closer to the fire, stretching arms and legs.

Caerleon didn't comment. Like the others, he scooted closer to the centre of the bivouac. Unlike them, he took of his shoes and removed socks and bindings. Two of his toes were blue, borderline black. “I'm just glad we made it in one piece.”

“Thanks to Merlin,” Myror said, averting his gaze from Caerleon's feet.

“I mean, I always wanted to do it.” Caerleon wiggled his toes; the blackened ones didn't much move. “I wanted to tell Annis, that's my wife, that I had been there.”

“Yeah.” Myror wagged his head in assent. “I wanted to touch the sky, too. I'm going to call myself thankful.”

Merlin distributed the fish and they all launched themselves at it with the fervour of those who haven't eaten in a while. As he ate, Merlin observed the group. They weren't a good squad. They had different paces and different timings. They didn't know each other, hadn't bonded. There was even a spirit of competition among them, the unhealthy kind. Merlin wouldn't take them up the mountain again, knowing what he knew now. It was a miracle something bad hadn't happened. He now had a new rule: Only harmonious teams. That way he would only have the mountain to fight against. 

When they were done with their food, Merlin cleaned his hands in the lake, letting its waters rinse them. Once done, he went rooting into his pack. He extracted a tube of cream and went over to Caerleon. “This will be good for your toes.” The cream usually worked miracles; it had saved Merlin's fingers a couple of times. “Put it on. We'll get you to the village doctor tomorrow.”

“Shouldn't I wait till I'm in Bern for a better doctor?” Caerleon asked as he took the cream. “I fear provincials.”

Merlin helped him uncap the tube. “I assure you--” Keeping an even tone was hard, but he had to. Townspeople, even though they climbed mountains on their downtime, didn't understand the pride that came with being born in a village. “--Doctor Fischer is an excellent physician.”

“Is he now?”

“Yes.” Merlin's jaw worked forward. “He's saved many a person after a climb. If you want to keep your toes, I'd look him up.”

That shut Caerleon up for good.

They started setting up their camp, putting up tents and unrolling bed rolls. 

Night came, soft and starry with few clouds. Instead of going into his tent, Merlin sat on a rock and whittled by their camp fire. He carved wood chips off a square block of wood. Its bark was peeling, but that didn't matter. He would scrape it all off before perfecting the form. For now, he just chased the shape into the wood. Whistling as he used his whittling knife, he looked up at the sky and let himself drift.

He belonged here, he thought; he felt the bindings that tied him to the land. He may not be home here on this specific mountain itself and there were miles between this spot and his native town, but there was something about elevations that made the place feel like home. The mountains cradled him as they always had. Their bulk offered a challenge, but also a form of protection. They were his natural element. Without them, he didn't feel quite as at ease as when they didn't loom in the background. No, Merlin belonged on those heights, and would die on them.

But not tonight. Tonight, he guarded his team.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/aTJqCi1)

Arthur left London on a Monday. He hadn't spoken to his father, who still disapproved of the task Arthur had set himself and of the methods he meant to employ. He hadn't said a word to Morgana, who was still in a high dudgeon about his refusal to take her along. Some club members had given a farewell party for him, but it wasn't the liveliest of celebrations. There was wine, true, and some laughter, but the club patrons weren't his bosom friends, they were just people he shared a passion with. So the goodbye wasn't as heartfelt as it might have been. And it didn't mean quite as much to him. He'd rather have had no fete and his father's blessing. But such was life.

On his way, he travelled through the valley of Saas, and climbed high up on the Alps; beyond the limit of trees and the tracks of tourists. He halted to take in from the slopes, which hovered 6000 feet above any village. He saw the peaks behind him and his heart stopped in his chest, taken by the icy pinnacles and the dense forests at their bases. 

He visited Stalden, went up the Visp Thal to Zermatt, and stopped there several days, wandering in many directions--his pack on his shoulder, a staff at his side, and a felt hat pressed on his forehead. Near the Hörnlie, he spent time taking in the landscape, watching the peaks as they peered out from above the dense banks of clouds.

Nature here was completely different than in London. There, you could barely make out any trees and even the heft of the river was enclosed by dams and banks. Here, it stayed unfettered, its beauty untouched by man. 

Not being of a mind to rejoin society, he didn't return to Zermatt by any of the usual paths. Instead, he lost himself among nature, seeking higher ground, scrambling over rocks and snowbeds, skirting the base of glaciers, and wading through some of the streams which flow from it. They were often made big by the rains, and sometimes were hard to ford, but not this time, and in the end he got to a peak from which all the valley below was visible. It was paradise on earth.

The next day he took the train for Bern. It crossed green valleys ringed by mountains and delivered him safe to the city in the early afternoon. 

Bern was a medieval city at is core, with newly constructed areas sprawling outside its walls. Within them many of the old stone buildings still stood, the bell tower ringing in the Münster, bridges arching over the Aare as it flowed past, its waters glimmering pure in the spring sun.

Arthur checked into his hotel, saw to it that his luggage was moved into his room, and then had a nap. Once he'd refreshed himself, he went downstairs to meet the rest of the climbing group. 

Valiant was at the hotel bar, drinking from a tall steiner and ordering another after having slammed his drinking vessel on the counter. “I'd rather you didn't do that, Mein Herr.”

“I'll do as I bloody well please,” Valiant said. “I'm a guest here, and an English one at that.”

Before a scene could ensue, Arthur joined Valiant at the bar. 

“Valiant.” Arthur shook his hand.

“Pendragon.” Valiant squeezed his hand hard in return. “You've finally arrived.”

Arthur frowned. “We had agreed to be here today for our meeting with our guide. I don't think I'm particularly late.”

“Not late as such,” Valiant said. “But I always trust the more eager climbers better. I know they'll push for that summit.”

Arthur ordered his drink and took a sip before addressing Valiant again. “We will push for it, have no fear. It's the entire reason why we're here.”

“Now you're talking.” Valiant lit up. “So, how do you propose tackling the ascent?”

Arthur would have shared the plans if Leon, Elyan and Lancelot hadn't arrived. Arthur introduced them to Valiant, at which point Valiant interrupted. “A writer and an artist. Really? So we only have three real climbers on the team, great.”

“Pardon me,” Elyan said, “but that is a false statement and rather demeaning, too. Though we may look at mountains differently, we're also experienced climbers.”

Valiant would have surely replied, and had in fact started to, but Arthur inerrupted, suggesting they go to the _wirtshaus_ for their meeting with their guide. Elyan, Lancelot, and Leon accepted the proposition promptly; Valiant was more hesitant, interrogating them as to this guide's identity and previous experience. “Merlin is not a new hand at this. He's quite wheathered when it comes to mountains, you can rest assured,” Lancelot said. “He's something of a local legend.” 

“If you say so,” Valiant quietened down. “Let us meet this legend then.”

The _wirsthaus_ had two joint common rooms with a bar counter in the first. Flagstones covered the floors and beams the ceiling. Niches opened in the wall. They all had a a window fronting the street, reflecting the glare of the gaslights flickering outside. The niches contained the booths, which were crowded by locals in felt hats and corduroy trousers, drinking ale and talking boisterously to each other. Pipes were lit.

Arthur and his group moved from the first room into the other. Scoping the room out, Arthur searched for their guide. He'd never met him before, but he still thought he could pick him out amid the crowd.

“That's him.” Lancelot leaned in to murmur in his ear, pointing. “The one at the corner table.”

Arthur zeroed in on the man Lancelot had showed him. He looked younger than Arthur would have surmised, given his job, with a rather innocent face set off by dark hair the colour of night. He was sunburnt across his forehead and nose, which spoke of his tendency to live outdoors. He wore a simple linen shirt with no collar, lederhosen and a russet jacket to go with. A kerchief was tied around his neck. 

Arthur watched him for a few long moments, studying the man while he was unaware of his scrutiny. He'd always thought it was the best way to judge a fellow, catching them in their unguarded moments. Merlin seemed a quiet person, pensive. There was a roughness about him, about his solitude, that disappeared the moment one of the serving girls supplied him with a fresh tankard. He flashed a sudden smile at her, friendly and open.

Arthur thought he could deal with someone like that, a man who could open up but was otherwise reserved. It boded well.

He was about to go up to him and break the ice, when Valiant pre-empted him. 

“Hey you, mountain guide.” Valiant stalked over to him. “We have a meeting. You could pay us some attention, considering how much we'll pay you for the job.”

Merlin stood up, eyes narrowing. “So you're the English group.” He watched all of them, gaze moving from Valiant, to Leon, from Elyan to Lancelot and finally covering Arthur. “I didn't know you were here.”

“Well, you should apologise,” Valiant said, walking over to him.

“I'm sure there's no need,” Lancelot said. “Mr. Ambrosius wasn't aware of us. He meant no slight.”

“Indeed.” Arthur felt he needed to step in. He didn't want tensions to arise even before they started on their climb. “Introductions went wrong, but we can all sit down and have a calm professional conversation.”

Valiant scoffed in Arthur's face. “You say that because you're not the one paying for this mission out of your pocket, are you, Pendragon?”

Arthur stiffened. Lancelot had been right. Valiant didn't work well in a team. He wasn't the ideal choice. But without him, there simply was no expedition. Arthur had to make sure to smooth things out or they would never start for base camp, let alone get up to the Eiger's summit. “Let's not quarrel over this. Mr. Ambrosius didn't notice us and we should not have startled him.”

“I don't believe that,” Valiant said. “I believe he was a rude little sh--”

“Valiant!” Arthur had the roar down pat. It was in his genes. His father acted exactly like this when opposed. “That's enough. Do you want to go on theclimb at all?”

The idea that they wouldn't be able to go up that mountain if they had no guide seemed to strike Valiant only in that moment. He didn't apologise but he grunted, settled down.

Merlin kept looking daggers at him. Arthur understood why he did, he'd had enough of Valiant himself. But Valiant was the money and there was nothing to be done but accept that he was part of the group. The others seemed unsettled by the scene Valiat had caused, too. They all fidgeted before joining Merlin at the table.

“So,” Merlin said, taking a swig from his glass. “You want to go up the Eiger.”

“Yes,” said Lancelot and Elyan at the same time.

“Are you experienced climbers?”

Arthur knew that if they were to have the best guide on the market — and he had a feeling it was this one — then they had to pull themselves together and appear much more professional. Their introduction had made them all sound like Sunday climbers. “We've all been in the business of climbing for quite a long time.” Merlin didn't look too convinced, so Arthur went on. “I've climbed the Grossglockner and the Ortler before. I've been up every peak in Scotland and quite a lot in Europe as well. The same goes for the others, changing the specifics.”

Merlin relaxed his shoulders. “At least you're still alive to tell the tale.”

“We're all experienced,” Arthur said. “I can guarantee you that.”

“Look, you can drop the artist and the writer, we don't need them,” Valiant said, “but you'll take the rest of us up.”

“What?” Lancelot's expression firmed into disapproval. “We haven't made it all this way just to turn back.” He looked to Elyan. “Right, Elyan?”

“Right.” Elyan inclined his head.

“And who said you get to decide?” Valiant scoffed. “If you aren't contributing, you don't get a say. I'm sorry, but that's how it works.”

Before Elyan could put in a word, Merlin rose from his position, wiped his mouth, shifted and said, “I'm not taking you up.” When Arthur made to open his mouth, he held a finger up. “I suggest you don't make the climb at all.” So saying, he upped and left.

Arthur followed him into the first common room, dodged a serving girl, and grabbed Merlin by the arm. “Wait,” he said, his breath coming out fast from the sudden sprint. “You can't leave us like that!”

Merlin turned around. His eyes flamed for an instant, but then the spark of anger subsided. He spoke in a quiet voice. “I can, though, and that's what I'll be doing.”

“You were fine with being engaged before.” Arthur had exchanged a couple of letters with this man. They had been businesslike, true, and they hadn't discussed any particulars of the expedition, but the gist of it had been clear. Merlin Ambrosius was interested in guiding them up the mountain. “Why are you so suddenly changing your mind?”

Merlin looked over his shoulders and at the door. He fidgeted, wiped his mouth, then his lips firmed. “I saw you interact.”

“What?” Arthur couldn't be more confused. “Is this about climbing experience again? I thought we made it clear. We're all veterans.”

“It's not because you're not expert enough.” Merlin rattled out a sigh. “I have other reasons.” 

At first, Arthur couldn't think what it was, but then an idea darted into his brain. “It's a question of money, isn't it? You want more than the agreed sum.” Though Merlin hadn't asked for little, there was room for improvement when it came to his salary. “We can discuss that.”

“No, it's not a question of money,” Merlin said, brow crinkled. “If you want to know—” He fidgeted on his feet. “If you really want to know why I don't want to lead you, it's because you're not a group.”

“I beg your pardon.”

Merlin exhaled. “Technically, you are. But you're not a cohesive unit.” When Arthur made a face, Merlin continued. “You don't seem to agree on a single thing. Tensions are rife among you.”

Arthur couldn't deny that anymore than he could the fact the sun was rising. Valiant certainly wasn't understated in his behaviour. “We can get over that. I can rein them in.”

“Maybe.” Merlin looked him in the eyes. “But it's dangerous. If you're never of a mind, each of you will be wanting to do what strikes them as fine at any given time, with that thing not being the same for any of you.” His face darkened considerably, his muscles tensed, changing his moue. “Do you know what happens on a mountain when people are like that?”

Arthur could probably imagine. But that was not the point. He was sure he could control Valiant, just as long as Merlin took them up. “I think—”

“People die,” Merlin said, his mouth a flat line. “Do you know how I know?”

Arthur shook his head. Merlin couldn't expect him to know his mind like that. “I don't.”

“Common sense.” Merlin's eyes became deep wells of sorrow. “So, no, I'm not leading you up that mountain.”

As Merlin walked past, Arthur grabbed him by the arm. “We're going up anyway.” None of them would renounce the mission. Not Valiant and most certainly not Arthur. Their hearts were too set on it for a change of plans. “You can help keep us sound—” He paused to let the notion sink in. “Or you can wait vale bound for us to climb.”

[](http://imgur.com/OLIccdR)

Merlin cursed and grunted. “We start four days from now.”

So saying, he turned his back on Arthur and left the _wirtshaus_.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/WRkvuHp)

Morgana hefted her suitcases and bag and climbed the stairs. They were narrow and dark, squished up against a wall covered in floral paper. A gas lamp shone on the first lading, shedding light down the treads. She used its glare to guide herself. Slowly, she climbed. With the key the landlady gave her, she opened the door.

The set of rooms was cosy, with upholstered armchairs, warm rugs and carpets, a profusion of pillows, and wooden planks covering the walls. The vases on the various tables were dainty and ornate, the knicknacks collected around them colourful and various. Pictures of Bernese mountains hung upon the walls, together with drawings of climbers, depicted with their _alpenstocks_ and gear. Aside from that, the room was in a style Arthur loathed.

Morgana put her suitcase down and smiled. Dabbing the sweat from her forehead, she moved over to the the small sideboard and poured herself a glass of whisky from the decanter. Refreshed, she switched on the gas lamps, moved Arthur's bags into the airing cupboard to make way for hers, and sat in one of the armchairs. 

Having travelled all day, carrying her own cases from station to station, she ached all over. She had a crick in the neck and her shoulder pained her every time she breathed. Her feet were swollen and her shoes needed to be removed. Still, she wouldn't move, not for several minutes, at least, given the day she'd had.

The worst was the German station. In Munster, they had kept checking and re-checking her passport as though they expected it not to be valid for some reason. They had called a second and third official to opine on it, but eventually let her go. The document was perfectly valid. In Frankfurt, she'd had to traipse this way and that to find the right platform. In Zurich,the station master had kept whistling in her ear. Finally, she'd started on the last leg of the journey. Travelling by coach had been cramped, but better than wandering around stations for hours. Though she had to suffer the enquiries of her fellow travellers — a woman journeying alone unfortunately always would — she hadn't had to suffer from motion sickness. The more moderate pace had guaranteed that.  
Besides, she liked horses and nature and everything meant to be on God's green earth. Like mountains. Like the one she was about to climb, whatever Arthur said. She belonged there, in the heart of creation, as much as any man, if not more. She liked to think that the great mover, the great engineer behind the planet they lived on, was a woman.

She was still considering what she might be like when Arthur shuffled in. His spine was bent, his face turned down, and a sigh escaped his lips when he passed the threshold.

She didn't say anything until he was in the middle of the room, doffing his hat. He'd just lobbed it at the hanger, when he saw her and jumped. “Morgana! What on earth are you doing here?”

“I'm joining the expedition.”

Arthur grunted. “I thought I'd told you you couldn't.”

Morgana shrugged her shoulders. “I obviously didn't listen.”

Taking a look at Morgana's baggage, Arthur began collecting it. “That's all very well and good.” He put her carpet bag on top of the pile. “But you're travelling back to England now.”

Morgana climbed to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. “I will do no such thing.” She took a few steps so she stood before the mound of baggage and closer to Arthur. “I've not come all this way for nothing.”

Arthur put both his arms out. “I don't care how far you've made it, Morgana. That's on you. I told you not to come. You'll have to put up with the annoyance of starting on your journey back.”

Morgana couldn't see why Arthur refused to understand. She'd be hard pressed to find fault with him as a brother--He could be sweet and loving, and was kind, thoughtful, and protective, overly so. But in this instance, he was failing her in all possible ways. He was blinded by prejudice and that was something she intended to change. If she didn't start with her brother, then how could she change the world's opinion?

“I won't go back.” Morgana tipped her head up. “I mean to climb that mountain, even if I have to do it alone.”

Arthur's eyes went so wide, he looked the most appalled he ever had in his life. “You can't do that!”

“Watch me.” It was a dare, and one she was proud of. 

“Morgana, you can't come with us,” Arthur said, gesticulating less and less, as if he'd lost steam along the way. “I already had a hard time convincing the best guide around to take up. I'm not sure I could persuade him or the others to guide us to the summit if you join us.” 

Morgana was determined to make the Eiger. Nothing would change her mind. She had set her heart on it; it might break if she didn't. Arthur had better understand that. The sooner he did, the fastest he would get his real position. “I told you. I'll go up myself. I won't give up.”

“Morgana!” Arthur's exasperation rang through in the way he said her name.

“What if I can persuade this guide of yours?” Morgana said. “Will you let me join your team if your guide allows me to?”

Arthur's eyebrows joined. “I don't know.” He got a crafty look. “Why, yes.”

“Then we have an agreement.” She extended her hand, smiling proudly. “If he agrees to let me join, I'm an official member of the expedition.”

Arthur tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in confusion, but he shook on it, which was all that Morgana wanted.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/K9tvey5)

[](http://imgur.com/1sWjEIm)

They gathered in Grindelwald, at the base of the Eiger, where green clothed, dew covered pastures extended as far as the eye could see, the peaks looming steely in the background under a clear sky dotted with fleecy clouds that came undone as you watched. It was the perfect weather for climbing.

They all had their gear—rucksacks, _alpenstocks_ , pickaxes, and cooking utensils— and each of them carried coils of rope. They wore sturdy boots and had goggles — currently hanging loose around their neck—to avoid snow blindness. They carried such a load because they had to—because every little tool would be needed once the ascent began. 

Morgana had as much equipment as Arthur, if not more, and had relinquished skirts for trousers. When she had left the inn, she had worn a gown, but as soon as she left the village behind, she had done something to it, ripping its seams, and now the fabric encased her legs like breeches would.

When Valiant arrived, he looked at Morgana, went red in the face and then told the others, “I'm not going up with a woman!”

“Why not?” Morgana asked. “Do women scare you so very much, poor little boy?”

Valiant's face corrugated in a moue of profound anger, its flush deepening. “I'll show you fear, you stupid c--”

Arthur stepped between them. “You're talking to my sister here, sir.” He might have his own arguments with her, but he wouldn't allow a stranger to be disrespectful. He wouldn't abide it of any man if a lady was involved, the more so when it came to his own sibling. “I wish you'd stop addressing her in such a manner.”

Valiant was about to retaliate when Merlin stepped between them. “I told you I want peace and quiet in the team.” He looked to Morgana. “Are you an experienced climber?”

“Yes.” Morgana nodded.

Merlin inclined his head. “In that case you can join.”

Valiant's face closed up. His jaw clenched. He turned round on Merlin and said, “You can't let a woman on our team! It's unheard of. We'll be the laughing stock of Europe.”

Face darkening, wrinkling with dismay, Merlin said, “Jane Parminter climbed. Marie Paradis got up the Mont Blanc. Miss Pendragon isn't the only woman climber there is or ever was.”

Valiant kept protesting, but Merlin wouldn't countenance him. He turned towards the mountain instead, eyeing it warily. As Valiant blathered on, Merlin kept silent. He only spoke a minute or so later, without facing Valiant. “We'd better start now. If we let it get too late, we won't get to the traverse before nightfall. And if we don't, I won't promise we'll make it at all.”

The North Face of the mountain looked down at them, frowning at those who would dare conquer its height. From their position to the top, it was a further 1,800 m. The frontier-line to higher ground followed the main ridge, very little of which could be seen from the top of the valley. The summit rose past the Traverse, above the Death Bivouac and the White Spider. It was otherwise concealed by outlying ridges and ledges.

Glaciers bounded the mountain, making its grey peak stand out even more. It was forbidding, awe inspiring. It entailed commitment. Once embarked on the ascent, that was it, you needed to keep going up There was no backing away. Arthur knew this was the challenge of a lifetime, that here he was called on to be the best that he could. And so he would, this he swore.

They went straight for the first crest, it being part of their early objective. Roped together, they reached up towards the first buttress. The rock face was worn, weather, rugged, curving slightly away from them. As one they moved together, aiming upwards. 

As they moved, the air got colder. In Grindelwald, the weather had been summery, with the sun shining in patches over the pastures. As they got to higher elevations, the sun disappeared and the temperature got colder. It wasn't bothering Arthur, not right now. But he knew that the further he went, the more rigid temperatures would get. He was prepared for it, but tried not to focus on it. 

As their guide, Merlin was in the lead, showing them the way. He plastered himself across the face, laying away on a rib that he had spied out, gearing up for a higher ledge, bridging wide and stretching up with his whole body. 

Since he spoke little, Arthur couldn't tell whether he'd been this way before, but he moved with an assurance that was astounding. There was a cat-like grace about his movements—a certain confidence, an aura he had, that spoke of ease and made it appear as though he wasn't hanging above a void while holding onto nothing at all. Even Valiant had had to concede, falling back behind him. The Eiger had never been climbed, but Merlin acted as though that was only because he had had no interest in summiting. 

That gave Arthur confidence. He moved along the groove that Merlin had found, bridging with ease, his feet braced outwards on ledges. His fingers discovered niches and his hands found holds in the rock, propelling himself upwards. 

The others under him were faring equally well. Elyan was immediately beneath him, climbing in Arthur's wake at a steady pace. Lancelot came behind him, using the rope to help himself up. Morgana, whom Arthur had worried about the most, was scaling that rock face with ease, light as a bee. Leon followed her. His climbing was slow and methodical, but he was making up in caution what he was losing in speed. 

They would bag the summit.

****

  [       ](http://imgur.com/K9tvey5)

They stopped at five, building their tents before the light of the afternoon could dim. They needed it to see by; tent building in the dark was not to be attempted. The space inside them was small, with the tents' angles sloping, but there was enough room for two bedrolls. That meant they would have to share. Leon insisted that Morgana should have a tent to herself, but Morgana nixed the idea, saying that she was like all the others and she didn't need any special attention. The fire in her eyes and her body language, hands on hips and body taut, stressed her message. Merlin agreed with her, saying it was safer if she shared with someone.

“You want to watch out for mountain sickness,” Merlin said. “Having someone there will help. They'll notice first if you have symptoms.”

Valiant swept his gaze up and down Morgana's body, and said, “She can share with me.”

Morgana turned away and scoffed. 

“She'll sleep with Elyan,” Merlin said, checking that the tents were stable. “Lancelot, Leon and Valiant go together. I'll share with Arthur.”

Arthur couldn't conceal a motion of surprise at Merlin's choice. During their previous meeting Merlin had shown no sign of liking him, so his settling for Arthur wasn't a choice Arthur would have thought he would make. He suspected Merlin wanted to leave Valiant to someone else.

It didn't matter much why he did it, Arthur was all right with the choice. He didn't want to share with Valiant either and, while he would have happily shacked up with the others, he preferred to be with Merlin. The guide was level headed and the one to go to in case of advice. Besides, there was something about his personal behaviour that pleased Arthur. He was quiet, reserved, and created no problems. He loved mountains just as much as Arthur did, with a banked passion that expressed itself in his climbing style, in the ease with which he inhabited spots at an altitude. 

Having some time before dinner, they put up a wind-break using some of their packing gear. This would be their safe place, their shelter against the elements. It was also a starting point for their mission. This was where they'd be starting the climb on the following day. When they'd seen the site, Valiant had wanted to put up tents further up, at a spot chosen by the leaders of the mission that had previously failed. But Merlin flatly refused. “It's safer here thanks to that rock outcrop out there. We don't want to repeat others' mistakes.”

It was just as well. Arthur wasn't superstitious. He didn't think they were doomed because no one had managed to ever complete this ascent. If anything, others' failures gave him momentum, made him want to succeed. But if shacking up elsewhere had been detrimental to their predecessors, then Arthur would rather not try.

Valiant was in a sulk about it, but when Merlin had said that here they were protected from rolling avalanches and the others agreed, he'd had no other choice but to keep silent. 

The camp, on the other hand, was full of noises: the rumble of the mountain as ice shifted, the ceaseless crack of canvas as the wind shook it, the distant roar of the gale as it slapped the North Face. Directly before them, the mountain towered, making the tents appear small and insignificant The summit was almost out of sight; it would be the first part of the mountain to be touched with sunlight at dawn. The Mittellegi Ridge rose sharp to their left, sweeping down. The West Flank sloped on their right, providing a gentler decline. Down below was the void, fog walling off the path they'd taken. There was nothing left to see. 

Since they were all tired from the climb, the group agreed to take a rest in their tents. Merlin ducked into the tent he and Arthur were sharing without saying another word. Arthur didn't blame him. They had to keep their strength for the climb tomorrow. Besides, it seemed that talking gave rise to disagreements within their group. Silence was infinitely preferable.

Limbs aching, Arthur divested himself of his gear, making it rattle to the ground. He should have handled his things more gently but he'd had a long day.

Merlin took out his Russian furnace and placed two tins on it. In one, he poured water and two spoonfuls of ground tea leaves. In the top one he put some water and a powder labelled meat extract. Then he lit the furnace up. “This is going to warm us,” he said. “And tide us over until dinner.”

“Good idea,” Arthur said, not quite knowing how to speak to Merlin now that they were alone. “We'll be needing that.”

Merlin's lips creased sideways. “I've been through this before.”

So had Arthur, but he didn't say that. That was obvious common ground. He was rather more interested in Merlin himself. So far, he'd shown he was a good, gifted climber. He wasn't the fastest, perhaps. He'd known alpinists who could scale rock walls faster than Merlin, but none with his instinctive assurance. “I can tell. When did you start?”

Merlin turned off the furnace and poured pale tea into tin cups. The broth he decanted into a couple of slightly larger, but overall similar, containers. “Climbing, you mean?”

“Yes.” Arthur watched Merlin's moves. How meticulous he was with their food, how his hands shifted from object to object. “When did it all begin for you?”

Being careful not to spill any of the liquid, Merlin passed him one of the tins. “When I was a child.” When Arthur had secured it between his knees, he handed Arthur the other container. “I was born in these mountains, in an actual hut on the Bernese Alps.”

“So it came naturally?” Because of geography, it hadn't been the same for Arthur. He was a native of London, its fumes and cramped horizons had been his confines when he was young. Even father's country manor, while located in the middle of a green estate, hadn't provided much scope for outdoors activity. With Arthur not being fond of hunting, he'd only been left with horseback riding. No, his passion for climbing had come at a later date and was a fruit of adulthood. “I realise it's a family venture, but you just, what, took to climbing?”

“As you may know, my uncle did it,” Merlin said, taking slow sips of his own tea. “Had always done it. He was a guide long before I ever drew my first breath.”

Arthur wished that had been his lot. If he'd born on the mountains, he'd have found his passion sooner. “That's a blessing.”

Merlin didn't take Arthur's comment on board. He stuck to his own subject. “My father was a climber, too.”

“I didn't know that.” Arthur had heard mention of the uncle and of Merlin only. Perhaps they were the only expert guides in the family. Perhaps the father was an amateur.

“You couldn't have.” Merlin closed his eyes and drank from his tin cup. “He died on the mountains.”

Arthur saw the faux pas he'd made immediately. He shouldn't have spoken without knowing the details. He oughtn't have assumed. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, my father wasn't—” Merlin put the cup down, took a big breath, and spoke again. “He didn't live with us for most the year. He wandered Europe for heights to climb. He was all over the Alps all the time.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “He seldom was home and when he was, he was planning another expedition.”

Arthur knew he probably oughtn't comment, but he wanted to reach out to Merlin and since Merlin seemed fine talking about this, Arthur saw no reason to stop discussing the subject. “He wasn't a fatherly figure, was he?”

“Oh, he was while he was around,” Merlin said. “He taught me some tricks I still use nowadays. He did his best. But he died — or that's what I assume happened since he never made it back from one of his expeditions — when I was too young to really appreciate him.”

“I see,” Arthur said. “I understand too, I think.”

“Not that I didn't love him.” Merlin hurried to say it, his gaze dipping low. “But I didn't value his memory the right way until I was older. Anger, I suppose.”

Arthur knew what Merlin was talking about. Not the precise feeling, perhaps—he'd never been angry—but he'd experienced similar sentiments to Merlin in the past. “I lost a parent too, my mother.” It wasn't something he frequently mentioned. It was so far in the past, he had outgrown the mourning period. It still pained him sometimes, but not with the strength it had when he was a child. At this point in his life it wasn't something he wanted to define him, but he still had enough common background with Merlin to understand his past attitude.

“My mother didn't choose to go.” Arthur didn't know why he was saying this. It had no bearing to Merlin's grief. But he found himself talking before he had actually decided he wanted to. “And the loss wasn't as keen as if I'd known her, but I've missed her all my life.”

Merlin looked up from under his lashes, stealing a glance at him that wasn't shy, but intent. “We're both telling ourselves it could have been worse, aren't we?” 

“I suppose so.” Arthur had never exactly looked at it that way. “I trust it's not a bad attitude to have.”

“I think so, too.” Merlin looked at the tent walls, seemingly searching the seams for an opening. “But it's not a thought I like to indulge in.”

“No.” They'd somehow spoken too much. Arthur sensed it. “No.”

They finished their tea and sipped their broth in silence. When they were done, Merlin set aside the tins they'd used for later rinsing and reassembled the Russian Furnace, putting it back in his rucksack. Once their small tent was again tidy, he settled down cross legged and closed his eyes. 

Arthur wasn't sure whether he'd fallen asleep but he kept silent just in case. Leaning against the tentpole he curled up so as not to expend body heat and dozed himself. When he woke, the light outside had started to dim and Merlin was standing, opening the tent. Before he could leave, Arthur asked him, “So, what do you think tomorrow has in store for us?”

“Tomorrow we're crossing a _bergschrund_.”

  [       ](http://imgur.com/Go7joLn)

The night had been ominously cold, with a chill that penetrated bones and set into one's heart. They had no fire. They couldn't build one without any wood and they'd had to put out the spirit lamp out of prudence. They wouldn't want to run out of oil or burn the tents. The wind howled like wolves saluting the night while mighty crashing sounds broke the stillness, the sounds settling only little by little. Arthur knew what it was: snow bounding downwards, rushing onto the glacier. In the spring, mountain brooks, swollen by the melting of the snow, sometimes brought down so many rocks and snow—with boulders rolling over and over, grinding each other into powder, and striking so many sparks that water course appeared as though it were lighting up—that they caused veritable avalanches.

Falling rocks and snow were things they had to watch out for.

Arthur had been up enough mountains not to be unsettled by the noises, but he still couldn't sleep as well as he might have. Merlin, for his part, snoozed on, and when the noises were at their worst, he merely turned around, continuing to sleep.

Breakfast was over a Russian furnace, with coffee grains dissolved in water a their beverage. They also had cold meat and bread, which they dipped in the coffee for moistening. 

After they'd cleared their camp, they started northwards. The initial segment of today's climb was easy. It didn't require the use of their ice axes, so they went on with only their picks. It was slow, methodical work. One needed to pay attention to fresh snow, which might not be compact enough to trudge on, and any other pitfall the mountain might offer. Seracs were the most dangerous. When ice spilled over a cliff, one had nothing but the ice itself to balance on, and when that gave, there was no hope for the unwary alpinist.

Towards mid-morning, they were hit by rain. Merlin tipped his head back, took a look at the sky, and said, “We're stopping for lunch.” 

They used canvas for shelter, and shared a meal of more cured meat and broth. Merlin added plant shavings to it, saying it was a trick that Gaius had taught him to make a meal tastier. Valiant grumbled that he didn't want any of that, but the others were happy to accept Merlin's offerings. Morgana in particular was loud in her thanks, sitting close to Merlin, and telling him how wise he was. She scowled at Valiant throughout.

When the rain stopped — a blessing in itself since you could never predict the moods of the mountain — they took off again. Before mid afternoon, they came upon the _bergschrund_ , with the glacier pulling away from the steep section of the mountain. It was a relatively thin crevasse that widened at the top. They used an axe as their deadman, probing around for weaknesses before anchoring it to the mountain side. 

“Shouldn't we triangulate ice screws,” Valiant said, upon examining Merlin's work. “It's safer that way.”

“It isn't necessarily easier.” Merlin belayed himself, indicating that Arthur, as his second, should stand way back. “And it's more time consuming. I don't want it to grow darker while we fix the screws.”

“I say my method is better,” Valiant tapped his boot into the ice, “but do as you want. This better be on your head. If anything happens, it's your responsibility.”

Merlin checked that the others were tied correctly one to the other. “I always consider it my responsibility.”

Being the leader, Merlin was the first to cross the __bergschrund__. He did so quickly and with little fuss. He made it look like he did it every day. Once he was clean of the margin, he signalled to Arthur to follow him. 

Arthur stopped and breathed before doing so. The hole was small, but he could see that it was also deep. The afternoon sunlight played on it, painting the snow a dazzling white. The darkness of the heart of the fissure was black. Rock striations were visible at the sides. Arthur didn't worry about them, but rather the depth of the ravine. If he crossed badly, he could break a leg, and that was if the most catastrophic of outcomes didn't come to pass.

With a deep breath, he buried his ice axe on the other side of the __bergschrund__. Once it had bitten into the ice, he levered his weight on it, and then shifted forwards, looking for purchase with his foot. When he found it, he moved his whole body forwards. Extending himself until he was on the other side. 

He got his breath back and watched Morgana follow him. She was more methodical than Arthur had been, testing the hold of her axe before pulling herself forward and over the void. She made it in two moves. When she got to Arthur's side, she elbowed him in the ribs and said, “So tell me, who's the best climber in Europe?”

“Edward Whymper.” Arthur made a show of rolling his eyes. “I thought that was rather obvious.” 

“Liar,” Morgana said. “You know it well.”

Valiant and Leon came after them. Then it was Lancelot's turn. Like the ones going before him, he buried his axe in the snow. But with his body halfway across the small chasm he stopped. He didn't move either forwards or back.

“What's wrong with him?” Morgana asked, squinting in the distance. “Why isn't he making it?”

Leon looked into the distance. “I don't know but something happened.”

“The chicken is scared,” Valiant said. “That's what's going on.”

Leon peeped with narrowed eyes out at Lancelot. “I'm afraid something has indeed stopped him.”

By then Merlin, who had gone on to scope out the rest of the path ahead, had come back. He sidled close to Arthur and looked to Lancelot. “I'm gonna go back.”

Arthur was about to say something when some of the ice from the rims of the bersgschund collapsed. It wasn't much, just a handful, but enough to be of concern. 

Everybody gathered at the end of the crevasse, faces drawn in concern. Everyone that was but for Valiant, who laughed first, then started imitating a chicken, making clucking, cooing noises, and shaking his arms as though they were flapping wings. “He's chicken. The bastard is too chicken to cross.” More noises came out of his mouth. “What a fraud.”

“Take my rucksack,” Merlin said, divesting himself of it. “I'm going back for him.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin's things. “Do you want me to come with?”

“No.” Merlin unclipped the rope and shook free of the harness. “I know what I'm doing.” 

With axe and ice pick he made his way back, reaching Lancelot. “I'm going to help you over,” he told him.” He buried his axe in the snow. On his back he let himself slide forwards towards the rim of the bergsschund. “Take my hand.” He showed Lancelot his palm. “Take my hand and you'll be on the other side.

Lancelot didn't move. Didn't even shift an inch.

Merlin worked his way closer to Lancelot. When he was close enough he started talking to him. It wasn't loud enough that the rest of them could hear from the other side of the bergschund, but effective enough for him to get a reaction out of Lancelot. While keeping his grip on his axe, He shook his head twice. He closed his eyes, kept them shut while he spoke. Then Merlin spoke and Lancelot opened his eyes. 

Slowly, little by little, Merlin helped Lancelot over, using his body as an anchor to help him bridge the chasm. Once Lancelot was on the other side, he stood on shaky legs. He didn't join the rest of them, but shook Merlin's hand and told him something that didn't carry.

When they rejoined the bulk of the group, Merlin said, “Let's crack on, shall we?”

Later that night, when they had made their tents, and eaten, with the others scattered around the camp, Arthur approached Merlin.

Feeling that he needed to know, to get more of an understanding of what had happened, Arthur asked, “What went down with Lancelot today?”

“I shouldn't discuss it,” Merlin said, as he stacked up ice picks and axes. “It's between me and him.”

“I understand that.” Arthur could see that a vow of privacy was involved. But they were stuck together on the side of a mountain, and trust was essential. As Merlin had observed before, they weren't the most cohesive of teams, but they could improve. Only transparency would help them. “But we need each other, all of us.”

Merlin seemed to think that over, brow deeply knit. Then he nodded. “He froze. Lancelot froze on the spot.”

It was Arthur's turn to wonder as to the meaning of this. Lancelot was an expert climber. His reports of his climbs had taken the shape of numerous books that were a delight to read. There was no doubt as to the veracity of his assertions. Arthur had been on one expedition with him and as for others he'd heard the spotless reports of many a colleague. “What do you mean?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. “If I tell you, this is to stay between us.” He sent Valiant, who was loitering yards away, a wary look. “That's my stipulation.”

Arthur agreed. There was nothing else he could do. Besides, he didn't trust Valiant with such knowledge, so Merlin's way of handling things seemed wise enough. “I will respect your wishes.”

[](http://imgur.com/y7O2c88)

“Lancelot meant to cross the _bergschrund_ with no fuss like all of us,” Merlin said. “But he couldn't. He froze. He saw the drop beneath him and thought about what would happen if he fell. What would happened if he died.” Merlin's voice voice was quiet, mellow, and full of understanding. “He has a sweetheart, he told me. Gwen, I think her name is, and how he's going to marry her. But wouldn't be able to if something happened to him. He told me he couldn't bear the idea of leaving her alone. That's what he was mulling over while he crossed and that stopped him.”

Thoughts like that would probably stop Arthur in his tracks too. He went up mountains because of the challenge and the glory. He never let himself consider the downsides. Because if he did, he would stop and never climb again. “I see.” He did wholeheartedly. “I'm sorry Valiant acted the way he did—”

“Yes, well,” Merlin said, “I told you he didn't make a good team member.”

The conversation seemed to be at an end, with nothing more to be said on both ends, yet Arthur felt he'd skipped a passage, an important link. “What did you tell Lancelot that changed his mind?”

Merlin smiled. “Ah, I think that's between him and me.”

Arthur knew that was what he would have wanted if he'd had Lancelot's problem. “You're a good man, you know.”

“I just hope I'm a good mountain guide.” Merlin covered their tools with tarp, eyes on what he was doing. “I have no other ambition.”

“That's what makes you one.” Arthur was pierced by the thought as though by an arrow.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/FZihTpN)

Night fell quickly, the way it does at altitude. There was little warning, just encroaching darkness and lowering temperatures. They spent the dinner hour together, though the meal itself was short lived. They told each other stories and chatted of past bygones. They shared their plans and ideas for future expeditions.

Leon spoke of his home. It was a fine place in Essex, built in stone, Elizabethan in appearance, with gardens and turrets and a park to go round. He told them how he was going to refurbish the place once he got back. If they made the summit, he would co-write a book with Lancelot and he'd use his royalty money to revamp his seat. “I do realise this is dependent on our summiting, but it's what I've got in mind in case we do.”

“Oh, we're summiting alright,” Valiant said, elbowing Arthur in a show of camaraderie fuelled by the whisky they were all drinking from their tin cups. It kept them warm, but it was also making Valiant act oddly. “You've got me on the team. Whether you and Lancelot are making it as part of the team is debatable.”

Morgana sat forward, hissing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know what I mean.” Valiant took another slug of his whisky. “Some people are not equipped to climb mountains. And I'm not talking ice picks.”

Morgana made as if to reply to him, but Elyan put down his sketch and said, “I mean to publish my sketches. I've taken a few—” He brushed a hand over his pad. The top drawing was of the Mittellegi ridge. The shape of it was distinguishable from afar and Elyan was such a talented artist, anyway, that the rendition wasn't only life-like, it was eerie and powerful. “I intend to depict the summit as well. And all of you.” He gazed at all team members bar Valiant. “It'd be an honour for me to take your likeness.”

“Of course we will sit for you.” Leon nodded, then stroked his beard. It was woven through with snow icicles he kept brushing off. “That'll get us some fame, for those us who only climb and don't draw or write.”

“I'll put them in my book,” Lancelot said, gazing at he light from the stove. “If you'll allow me to, that is.”

“What made you want to climb in the first place, Leon?” Elyan asked. “I mean, I do it for the art. Lancelot loves telling the tale of it. But why do you?”

“Oh I've always been climbing things.” Leon waved the notion aside. “When I was two I was climbing furniture. When I was ten I was climbing hills with my father. But it was only when I became an adult that I could really indulge in my passion.”

Morgana said, “Arthur and I often climbed together.”

Valiant couldn't refrain from responding. “I see Pendragon is whipped. And by his own sister nothing less. It's sad, really. Were it a woman he could fuck, I'd understand, unless—” He laughed, covering his face with his hand. “Of course, of course.”

Merlin threw a handful of earth onto the stove fire. He cleaned his hands of it, then looked at Arthur, his face shadowed by the play of light. “What do you climb for?”

That was a question Arthur had wanted to ask of Merlin himself. He knew why the man was a guide—his family had been guides before him and he was continuing an honoured tradition—but what drew him to heights was a mystery. Arthur said, “The challenge. The honour in it.”

“I understand the challenge part.” Merlin inclined his head. His tone was thoughtful. “I don't see what being up mountains got to do with honour.”

Arthur wasn't sure he could easily explain his point of view. It was so tangled with his life style and personal history. “Climbing is sportsmanship,” he said after a while. “Only the best and fittest, the most trained make a summit. You have to respect the rules and then you'll make it. There's honour in the preparation and in taking on the challenge. That's how I see it, how I've always seen it.”

“I get some of it,” Merlin told him, biting his lip in thought. “I see how getting prepared for a climb is like getting prepared for a race. But there are differences in how a man may approach these things.” He hummed low under his breath. “To take part in a race or a boxing event, you have only to rely on yourself and your skills. You must train. Train hard. And the result you get is based on how hard you've toiled.” He paused as if to take time to weigh the rest of his statement. “But on a mountain... you've got to respect the mountain. You might be at the top of your game. The best climber there is. But if the mountain sets itself against you, you're done.”

“Spooky nonsense.” Valiant spat a gob of saliva into the snow. “If you're good, you're good.”

“I don't think you're enough in awe of the mountains,” Merlin said. “That's the wrong attitude to have when you're atop one.”

“Superstitious Mumbo Jumbo.” Valiant laughed. “I don't need it.”

“You may find yourself wrong,” Merlin said, watching as Valiant rose. “My family's always respected mountains.”

His hands at his hips, Valiant hulked over Merlin. They all grew silent; they all had expected Valiant to attack Merlin, but he just made it back to his tent. 

Though nobody wanted to take Valiant's cue, they all discussed retiring for the night. The day ahead of them would be long and hard. Without storms, the night was calm and quiet. They might as well benefit, taking what nature offered, and retire for the night.

Since there was no reason to change, Merlin and Arthur shared again. They didn't pull off any clothes. It was too cold for that ritual. Rather, they layered up before slipping into their bedroll. Once they were in it, lying head to foot, Arthur turned in Merlin's general direction.

He didn't want to sleep, didn't feel able to. His head ached too much for easy repose and his thoughts were too scattered. Blame it on the height, which made him anxious, and more fearful than he would otherwise have been. So, though tomorrow would be a tough day, he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes and put himself in the mood to rest. The conversation outside had made him think, given him food for thought in rather specific ways. He intended to probe the point. “When you talked about mountains, about our needing to respect them, it's more than a feeling that you have, that you wish people had.”

Merlin licked his lips. “In a way. Yeah.”

“Did something ever happen to make you fear mountains so?” Arthur asked, wanting to know, feeling he could help Merlin deal with it if it was the case. “Have you any specific reason to think the way you do?”

Silence unfolded between them and Arthur thought it would stay unbroken. But then, Merlin spoke.

“I mentioned that I lost my father to the mountains,but that's not all.” He turned in his bedroll so he was lying flat in it, staring at the apex of their tent.

“Do you feel like sharing?” Arthur realised how tentative is question was but Merlin was generally so withdrawn, he didn't want to infringe upon that. He hoped Merlin would open up on his own. Arthur knew it was important he should. He had some kind of emotional stake in it. His body was tense with the anticipation of an answer. His thoughts, which ought to have been focused on tomorrow's leg of the climb, veered on Merlin. “I mean if you do—”

“My third job,” Merlin said, his voice low and husky. “I'd acted only as a local guide before.”

“You took people up the Bernese mountains.” There was no other area for him to have ranged around, Arthur supposed.

“Yes.” Merlin moved his head in a motion of assent. “But then I was asked to escort a group up Mount Rosa. I accepted.”

“Something tells me it didn't go down all that well.” Going by Merlin's tone, Arthur was relatively sure by now.

“It was a team similar to this one.” Merlin balled up in his bedroll. “Good on paper, but quite terrible when it came to group effort. I thought I could change things, that I could be enough of a leader to smooth things over.”

“But that wasn't the case.”

“No. We chose the West Ridge approach, aiming for the Dufour peak.” Merlin's tone was free of inflection. “We descend to Gnifetti Col and climbed the steep ridge to Zumstein Peak with no accident. From then on, it should have been easy. We got to the top of Zumsteinspitze and down the pass that separated the peak from Grenxsattel. Before we could reach the Dufour Spitze, one of our team members decided he wanted to be there first. He wouldn't let me open the way and find the right path. He wanted to be the first to summit. He found a rock wall.” He moistened his lips. “Climbing it would have shortened the distance to the Spitze. He fell to his death.” 

“I'm sorry that happened to you,” Arthur said, feeling for Merlin in a way he hadn't before. Previous accounts of failure hadn't grabbed him like this, had never left such a mark with him. He supposed it was personal this time, because Merlin was telling him. It was his own tale. “But nothing like that will ever happen again.”

“I hope so,” Merlin said. “But I'm not sure hope and reality will match up.”

  [       ](http://imgur.com/aTJqCi1)

They woke up when it was still dark. Stars shone in the sky, tiny pinpricks like so many needlepoints. They shimmered, shedding pale light. The face of the mountain was still draped in darkness but their hurricane lamps shed a glow that made the side of it light up in shades of orange.

They roped themselves to one another, and started at a slow space with their lamps aloft, like a sacred procession. When they came upon the Challifirn, they walked on crampons, crossing miles of glacier, with overnight snow streaming off the rocks that bounded it. It lay like a kerchief over the Eiger Massif, trimmed with white everywhere. They went at the same brisk pace, not talking to each other for the wind cutting at them, their heads pitched low. Merlin pointed out the great face of rock that was their goal today. They got right below the Grand Gendarme.

The rock-face was nearly flat, though it had protrusions here and there that allowed for climbing. At about mid-height, it was cut in half by a ledge covered in ice. Then, the rock wall reprised, giving access to the First Pillar. If they were lucky, they would stop there tonight, where they'd prepare for the last day and the push for the summit. 

They weren't there yet, though. Arthur must rein his excitement in. This wasn't how you conquered mountains. It wasn't how you built a name for yourself. Arthur knew what the challenge was: keeping your head down, being reasonable. He had to stay calm. As hard as it was with the first signs of mountain sickness affecting them, making them more apprehensive, more volatile, they must.

Merlin started going up first, putting bolts in the great rock face, so the rest of them could follow easily. He free climbed well, putting pitches in, the ropes taut between their two belay points. He had the tools in his mouth, hammering the bolts in place while he clung to the wall. 

“He's good,” Morgana told Arthur. “Never misses a step.”

“I could do that myself,” Valiant said, tilting his head to look atthe vertical rock expanse. “If he'd just asked.”

“I'm sure.” Morgana's tone was so jeering that Arthur was sure Valiant would retaliate. But he didn't. 

Valiant was so eager to be the one who went after Merlin that he passed up on the opportunity to goad Morgana. Merlin had barely given them the signal to proceed when Valiant encouraged the others to go. “Come on, get going,” he said, stamping his feet. “Or do you want us to put roots here?”

Lancelot, Leon and Elyan shared a look. “Shouldn't we test out the bolts?”

“For God's sake,” Valiant said. “The man tested them out himself.” He pointed at Merlin. 

Brushing them all aside, Valiant went after Merlin, putting his weight on the bolts Merlin had placed. He looked like a spider, systematically making his way up a wall. The bolts held easily and Valiant was soon close to the first ledge. He didn't even use the pitches, steering free of the ropes and imitating Merlin, free climbing as he went. Merlin was the first to hoist himself up there. Valiant put a foot on a rock shelf, and was up, together with Merlin.

Elyan followed in Valiant's tracks. Unlike Valiant, he didn't try and show off. He used the ropes as well as the bolts. His ascent was thus slower but nonetheless completed in a reasonable time. Just as he'd landed on the edge of the ledge, a wind picked up. It was biting cold and found its way underneath their gear. Not that it wasn't usually frosty at these altitudes, but the gale chilled Arthur to the quick.

“Conditions are deteriorating,” Arthur told the others. “We must go up fast.”

“I'll be the next one,” Leon said, putting his axe and picks back in his rucksack. “Then we can have Lancelot, and Morgana. You can come last.”

“I agree.” Arthur spoke over the wind; he needed his message to be carried across. He wanted to make sure Morgana got up before a storm broke out. With mountains you never knew and, after talking to Merlin, he didn't trust them. Not with his sister's life. “Let's get going.”

Lancelot moved closer to the rock-face. He considered the ropes, but instead of grabbing them like Elyan had done, he levered himself off a bolt. 

“Lancelot,” Arthur called out, but Lancelot didn't heed him. “Lancelot, use the ropes. The wind's picking up!”

Lancelot moved from bolt to bolt and outcrop to outcrop. The fissures for hands and feet were small, and the wind kept buffeting him away from them. He had to go slow to cling to the face wall.

“What's up with him?” Morgana shouted in Arthur's ear. “Why isn't he using the ropes!”

Arthur would have liked to know that as well. “I can't think of a reason.”

“With this weather—” Morgana turned to him, her face angular and ashen. “He'll be swept off the cliff.”

Arthur was of the same opinion. Valiant had made it because the wind was still down. The conditions, as it often happened at these altitudes, had morphed. Now, it looked as though Lancelot was having trouble moving up. While he found handholds, they didn't lead him up towards Merlin Valiant and Elyan, but instead towards the outer face of the Grand Gendarme. More than once he scrabbled for purchase, finding a foothold at the very last moment. 

Arthur held his breath the whole time. He could shout again of course. He could signal to Lancelot to grip the rope. But it would be of little use. There was a chance Lancelot wouldn't hear him, not with the roar of nature in his ears, and if he heard him at all he that could unbalance his focus.

“I'm going up myself,” Arthur said, attaching his belay hook to the ropes. “I'll help him up.”

Putting his foot in an embrasure, Arthur started on his way up. Though he had the ropes, he had to feel for foot and handholds, so he could hoist himself up. With the wind shoving snow in his eyes, he could see little. The goggles protected him but his field of vision was much reduced. Heart in his throat, hands that would only flex around rock protrusions with a lot of hard work, he slowly neared Lancelot's position.

“Lancelot,” Arthur shouted. “Stay put!”

Lancelot didn't listen. He continued moving in a horizontal line, finding notches in the rock wall in which to stick hands and feet. With a heave he moved in a vertical direction, but the mountain face jutted out, offering no dints to clutch at. Lancelot sought to reach out a tiny trough in the rock, but when he lifted up to get there, he lost purchase and dangled in the void. 

“Lancelot!” Arthur shouted. “Hold on, I'm going to get there!”

Having hooked himself up to the ropes, Merlin started his descent as well. Arthur was moving towards Lancelot too. Arthur was sure he'd get there first, but having Merlin down as well was a great relief. He was inching eastwards, on a horizontal plane, when Lancelot turned his head. Since he had his goggles on, Arthur couldn't tell whether he was looking at him or not, but he could see his lips moving. 

Before Arthur could make heads or tails of the signal, Lancelot's hand cramped open, and he fell. He disappeared into the void.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/3Pd1bHz)

  [       ](http://imgur.com/WRkvuHp)

Arthur screamed himself hoarse.

He watched as Merlin came level with Lancelot's last position. He saw him look around, then shake his head. Sharing a glance with Arthur, he went up again. Little by little the others climbed too, getting to the first ledge.

Once they were all there, safe for the moment, they stared mutely on. They couldn't go up. They couldn't go down again. 

Arthur said, “We should go and search for Lancelot.”

“We need to wait till the storm breaks off,” Merlin shook his head, “then I'll go down myself.”

Valiant scoffed. “You've all seen the fall he took. He'll be dead.”

Though there wasn't much space on the ledge, Elyan grabbed Valiant by the lapels of his snow jacket. “It's all your fault. This is all your fault.”

Valiant laughed in his face. “You're mad.”

“You kept goading him.” Elyan didn't let go of his hold on Valiant. If anything, he tightened it. “You kept telling him he lacked courage. So he went up without ropes.”

Merlin stepped between the two of them. “That doesn't matter now. The reason why he did it is no longer important.”

Merlin was right, Arthur knew. Lancelot had made his decision. He had fallen. Though Arthur had little hope they had to go rescue him. “We need to go back down.” All the time they were wasting mattered. “We need to look for him.”

“What!” Valiant said, moving up against Arthur. “Are you mad?” He spat the words out. “We're close to the top. We're not giving up on that!”

“What does it even matter now?” A summit was a summit. There was honour in reaching one's goal. It was the acme of sportsmanship. But saving a life mattered more. “We need to rescue Lancelot!”

“Lancelot is dead!” Valiant puffed his chest and enlarged his eyes. “There's no way he survived that fall. Even thinking he did is sheer madness.”

“He has a point,” Elyan said, shaking his head. “God knows I don't even want to think it. But after that fall...”

“Right enough.” Valiant patted Elyan on the shoulder. “We should concentrate on summiting.”

Arthur wanted to get to the top of the Eiger. He needed that like he needed breathing. But not in these circumstances. Lancelot was such an old friend. They hadn't seen each other daily, true, but Lancelot had been with him on previous expeditions, always loyal, always the first to support Arthur. And now he had so much to look forward to with his upcoming marriage. His death was simply unthinkable. “We should focus on getting Lancelot back.”

“Lancelot his dead.” Valiant took off his hat and stomped on it. “How many times do I have to point it out?”

Merlin came between them again. “Okay, all right. All right. No need for all of this animosity. I'm going to go down and look for him.”

“You won't find him,” Valiant said, the animation in his voice palpable. “And you know why? Because that's impossible. You'll only waste time.”

“I can make it quick.” Merlin's objection was swift to come. “You know just how fast I am. I can go down this rock wall and make sure Lancelot is not there.” Merlin's eyes focused narrowly on Valiant. “Or are you afraid I'm going to find him?”

“Well, what if you do?” Valiant asked. “I hope you're not going to be so stupid as to give up the mission for him. The mistake was his.”

“If you find him.” Leon stepped forward. “I'm going to stay with him till you make it to the top.”

“You'd give up the summit?!” Valiant sneered. 

In lieu of answering, Leon looked at Valiant head on. Valiant scoffed but other than cursing low under his breath he didn't say anything. 

Merlin got rid of his rucksack, hooked himself to the belay system, and walked to the edge of the cliff. Arthur felt the urge to ask if he could go with him, but he quickly realised how that would have slowed Merlin down and made a short process a laborious one. Having checked the ropes, Merlin rappelled down, disappearing into a bank of mist. 

There was nothing for the rest of them to do but wait and hope that Merlin found Lancelot, and that the both of them made it out fine. Arthur couldn't call himself an optimist right now. It was wrong of him to entertain so little hope. As a friend and as a climber he ought to confide in success. But the practical side of him won out. A fall like that, there was no surviving.

Though Merlin was the one with the most experience among them, and thus the one most likely to find Lancelot, Arthur couldn't forgive himself for staying up the ledge while Merlin ventured into the abyss. If something happened to him...

He should have gone with him. He knew what Merlin would have said, if Arthur had offered: he'd waste less time alone, he'd done it before, but that didn't stop Arthur worrying or wishing he had joined. Soloing was never easy. In this weather and on the Eiger it took a special kind of courage. Now Arthur marvelled at it, stood in awe of it, but all that didn't cancel out all his other feelings about it. 

Morgana took his hand and said, “He'll make it. They will both make it.”

“I hope so.” Arthur breathed out, continuing to fix his stare at the drop beneath him. “I just--”

“Feel impotent.” Morgana whispered the words. “Full of shock and rage.”

Arthur couldn't have described his own feelings better. Sometimes he wondered how Morgana could read him so well. He had thought he'd done a good job hiding his panic. Apparently, his sister was more insightful than he'd given her credit for. “Yes.”

Morgana huddled against him, a point of warmth at his side in spite of the temperatures. “It'll all end well. I feel it. Lancelot's always made it back, and Merlin's got a cool head about him.”

Arthur wished he could be as optimistic as Morgana, that he could share her confidence. It wasn't that he didn't trust Merlin. The man was a confident climber; his natural element was the mountain to the point he lived and breathed it. It was just that he didn't trust fate or destiny. It maybe was because he was motherless, or perhaps because he'd heard too many accounts of Alpine disasters, but he just couldn't bring himself to experience any relief until he had cause to. 

Just so he could stop looking into the drop below, he closed his eyes. It didn't help much. All he saw was images of Lancelot at his best: at the foot of Piz Bernina on a morning the sun shone in all its glory; on top of the Marmolada in that portrait that graced his study, a sketch by Elyan that, in quick assured strokes, depicted his very essence; together with Arthur on the Grossglockner. 

And then, quite unbidden, Arthur saw Merlin. He pictured him as he'd been on the day he first met him in that _wirtshaus_ in Bern. He saw him leading their expedition, climbing a rock wall with the sure-footedness of a chamois, highlighting the strength and power of his body. Arthur's mind went back to their time together in the the tent, the frailty Merlin had displayed there when going over memories of his past. He recalled the quietness of him in moments of rest. 

All these memories prompted Arthur to realise he would mourn Merlin just as much as he would grieve over Lancelot. It seemed strange. He'd known Lancelot since he'd first entered adulthood, but Merlin he'd only met here in Bern. And yet...

He was so taken by his reverie that he didn't see Merlin hoist himself up over the lip of the rock wall until Morgana pointed him to him. The moment he noticed him, Arthur sprang forwards and helped him onto the ledge.

Once he was safe on it, Merlin, panting, said, “Couldn't find him. There's nothing.”

“Told you so,” said Valiant.

Arthur pulled Merlin to him and hugged him tight.

center>

  [       ](http://imgur.com/Go7joLn)

  [       ](http://imgur.com/K9tvey5)

The weather didn't improve. Fog came up from the bottom of the rock wall. It moved in dense banks and hovered over them like a milky blanket. It was impossible for them to continue climbing just yet. They'd have to settle on the ledge for now. Any other choice would be impractical. 

The ledge was so small, they couldn't build tents or settle down they way they'd grown used to. It wasn't the best of circumstances, but they would have to make do. If the weather kept being this bad, they would have to cut their expedition short. Climbers could withstand the cold and the lower atmospheric pressure, but they couldn't scale mountains blinded by fog. They'd all die. 

They huddled together in little groups, except for Valiant, who kept himself apart, hugging himself against the cold. Leon and Elyan stuck together and so did Arthur, Merlin and Morgana. Morgana was the first to fall asleep. With his eyes closing, and his body settling down, Merlin looked like he'd be the second, but he spoke. 

“I know what you're thinking,” he said.

Arthur, who'd let torpor get the better of him, shook himself. “What—” Then he went over what Merlin had said. “How could you possibly?”

Merlin's eyes went small. “I think I'm getting the hang of you.” He licked his lips, which were pale and dry from the cold. “The mountain does that to you.”

“It makes you omniscient?” Arthur hadn't meant to sound sarcastic, but the words were out of his mouth before he'd thought them through. 

“It makes you see who people are, baring their true nature,” Merlin said, snugging down against the rock wall. “And it's not your fault. Lancelot is not dead because of you.”

“If I'd reached him in time Lancelot would be with us now.” Arthur had been so close; if he'd been quicker, he might have rescued his friend.

“The mountain doesn't work like that.” As he made a ball of himself, Merlin squinted at the far horizon. “It's treacherous. It's got a mind of its own. Lancelot took a risk. The mountain betrayed him.”

“I failed him.” Quite apart from his tardiness in getting to Lancelot, Arthur had also missed his chance at talking to his friend. If he had, he might have found out what was wrong with him, if anything was, and talked him out of the free climbing idea. “I could have done much more.”

“If you put it like that,” Merlin said, “then the same is true of me. When I realised something was wrong, I should have got myself into a harness and rappelled down sooner.”

That was absolute nonsense, Arthur knew. “It'd have taken you too long.”

“And even now.” Merlin's gazed tipped towards him. “I could still be down there looking for him. But I'm not.”

“Don't be absurd, now.” This blame game was getting preposterous. Arthur had reasons for thinking he could have done better. But Merlin had been a paragon of a team leader. “Have you had a look at the weather—” Arthur could almost taste the fog on his tongue it was so thick. It had a pearly sheen to it. You couldn't see your own hand through it. “You would have wandered right to your death.”

“I know this mountain.” Merlin bowed his head. “I could have tried.”

“Merlin.”

The wind picked up, drowning both their words with its ululations. They echoed against the rock walls, whistled between narrow crags. It was like a high keen, nature's lament. There was something eerie about it, in the distant ricochet of that song. In a pause in the howling, Arthur spoke again. “Merlin, are you listening to me?”

“I swore to myself it wouldn't happen again,” Merlin told him, his voice rough. “I swore myself I would let no one in my care die. I vowed that my expeditions would be safe.”

“You couldn't have predicted what happened.” Before Lancelot showed signs of vacillating, no one could have said something was the matter with him. And most certainly no one could have guessed he'd fall while free climbing. While their sport was dangerous you never expected death. “The way the accident unfolded, it was unpredictable.”

“It wasn't.” Merlin's gaze became sharp. In the swirls of white his blue eyes shone like the depths of a stormy mountain lake. “I saw it from the get go.” He smiled bitterly. “Oh, I couldn't tell that Lancelot would lose his grip and tumble into the void, but I could tell this wasn't a well knit team.”

It was true. Merlin had told Arthur as much. “You took us up because you had faith in us.”

“I took you up,” Merlin's tone in repeating Arthur's own words was loaded, “because something about you was so damn convincing, so magnetic.” He lowered his lashes. “Because I knew you wanted up, that it was your dream, and I couldn't bring myself to shatter it.”

Arthur hoped Merlin didn't think he was responsible for his heartache. He was about to say he was sorry, that he wished things had gone down differently, when Morgana woke. Merlin and Arthur didn't speak further to one another.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/QXYlqSJ)

When morning broke out, a rainbow split the sky. It arced from one side of the mountain to the other, all seven colours brushing together like in the palette of an artist. The sun shone over snow and rock, making it shimmer with all the power of dawn. An eagle soared against a backdrop of white clouds.

“The weather's fine,” Valiant said, stretching his limbs as he stood. “I say we continue.”

“How about we go back down and start looking for Lancelot?” Arthur was sure that if they had a body, that could at least be something for his family. A token only, a token of suffering, but a symbol nonetheless.

“Corpses can wait,” Valiant said. “We should try to summit today. We can go look for him after we've hit the top.”

Arthur couldn't believe Valiant's callousness. “I say we should get the body and abort the mission—”

Valiant made himself big. “And I say we haven't come all this way for nothing.”

Leon put a hand on Arthur's shoulder and the other on Valiant's. He looked benignly at them both before saying, “Perhaps we can reach an agreement.”

“I don't see how.” Morgana eyed them both.

“It's simple.” Leon put both hands up as if he was buying time to explain. “If we summit, we're going to be the first to do so.” Arthur glared at him but Leon continued. “Elyan can depict it. I can write an account of it. We would have anyway but this time it can make a difference. If we give all of our earnings to Lancelot's fiancée, then we'll have helped.”

That wasn't warped reasoning. Arthur could get behind it. “If we're sure of that...”

“I don't care who you give your money to—” Valiant jutted his chin out. “Just as long as I haven't come all this way for nothing.”

Arthur felt like giving up. Lancelot was dead. Merlin was down because he felt responsible. Their team wasn't close knit at all and that division might foster other accidents. But Leon's proposition wasn't unwise at all. If Gwen got the proceeds from their royalties, she might shuffle on, build a life for herself now that Lancelot was no longer there for her. Torn, Arthur looked the other team members in the eye.

He knew Morgana agreed with Leon. He could tell from her gaze. Elyan was nodding and Merlin was bracing himself for more climbing. “Okay,” Arthur said. “Let's try and summit.”

They scaled the wall over the ledge using the same method they'd employed before with pitches and bolts, Merlin laying them out as he went out on a free climb. The entire time, Arthur feared for him. While it was true that Merlin was an expert, accidents happened, and he hadn't been able to rid himself of the idea. But Merlin got up that side all right, helping the others join him.

Once they were clear of that, they were above cloud level. They took a moment to appreciate the beauty of nature. The clouds were like a milky film stretching over the landscape below, intersecting in rags of white. The sun peeked above them with its early morning glow. The heavens were alit with it. 

Elyan stood still, watching, as if he was imprinting the image in his mind. Arthur knew that if they hadn't been on a mountain top, he'd have started sketching immediately. 

They continued up a narrow ridge connecting minor peaks together, walking in file with the rope connecting them. There wasn't much margin for mistakes. There was no path to speak of, so they just proceeded along the crag, avoiding rock protrusions and brittle passes. 

They mounted steadily for an hour and a half, sometimes walking, though more frequently climbing. The part on which they came upon was a very steep slope, and was crevassed throughout. They had more trouble getting into the area rather than across it, however. Thanks to the rope, they traversed it in all safety. Interminable buttresses opened up again. Hour after hour, they continued upwards, but the track was barred by sheer drops, so they were obliged to descend again. The ridge behind them had sunk long ago, and they gazed back it, with eyes reddened by the snow, their goggles around their necks.

The air was thick here, exhilarating, sharp in a way it wasn't at lower altitudes. The beauty of the scenery pierced Arthur's heart. It opened up hope inside him, infused him with it, made him feel alive in ways he seldom did. It was exhilarating. This was why he climbed. To be at the top of the world and feel it. 

They continued to climb some more until a vertical rock pillar presented itself to them. They cleared it one by one, using ropesbut no system of pitches. They came at last to a very bad tract, rotten and steep, with no hold in sight. They worked their way forward and at length caught sight of the head of the glacier as it streamed out of the plateau. It was a blanket of uniform white that covered the rocks of the traverse in multiple directions. They couldn't tell which part was serac and which one wasn't.

Merlin started first. He secured a ladder with ropes across a section of glacier. He tested them twice before letting the others on. Morgana and Leon crossed with ease. There was a rumbling sound when Valiant's turn came, but the man seemed unfazed by it. Elyan came next. Then it was Arthur's turn. 

He'd just cleared the ladder and walked a few yards onwards, probing with his _alpenstock_ , when the rumbling sound he'd heard before changed in nature, becoming a deafening roll of thunder. It pierced the ears and drowned every other sound.

Merlin shouted something to him.

Arthur turned. He saw the avalanche once it had already started.

He caught sight of Merlin, launching himself at him. He yelled at Merlin to stay back, but his words were submerged by the oncoming onslaught of snow.

 

*****

 

[       ](http://imgur.com/FZihTpN)

 

 

Everything around him was white, a staggering white. It was cold, colder than he'd ever felt. The cold packed around his heart and froze his limbs. His lungs were stabbed by it, pinpricked by it. He could breathe, however. And he could see. And that was enough to tell him he was buried under snow. He didn't know how long he had, but he was aware that he had to do something or suffocate. He dug wherever the snow had stacked; it had packed down so tight that it left wide pockets around him, large enough to allow him to move. 

Yet knowledge sent him into a panic. He knew the statistics. He knew what happened if you got under snow, how you went. His arm flailed upwards but the snow covering held tight on top of him. He pushed again and felt the snow shift, so he forced his limbs into wide arcs until he'd made more space for himself. It was dangerous. The rest of the snow might fall on top of him and cut his air off, but he couldn't wait for it to asphyxiate him. He'd rather act, do something, and curtail the time he had, then passively wait for the end. 

When he'd moved enough snow, he kicked with his legs. As he did so, it inched away from him. He didn't know how deep in he was, but he was now convinced he had to try again. He flailed about, winning more space for himself. He'd almost got to his _alpenstock_ , which was buried close to him, when he saw light pierce the coat of snow. 

Drizzles of it fell downwards, the ice cupola straining over him coming apart. Arthur braced for a cave in, but it didn't happen. The hole in the dome above him grew larger and larger, until a shaft of sunlight broke through. 

Arthur drank in all the air he could. He hadn't been suffocating, but the thought that he might was enough to prompt him to do so. By then his head was free and he saw Merlin. He was on all fours, digging in the snow, his gloves sodden, his face red with the cold. Once Arthur's torso was unencumbered, he helped to free himself. The moment the snow released his body, Merlin pulled him to him, touching his face, his body, hugging him wholesale. “Good God, I thought you'd died.”

For a moment, Arthur had thought he had been close to death indeed. Dread had taken him over. The notion he would die buried under had seeped into his mind and had been hard to dislodge. He'd been lucky and he still couldn't believe it. “I'm fine, I'm fine.” Arthur clung to Merlin as though he were his lifeline. If he had succumbed, he wouldn't have seen Merlin again. “Just give me a minute.”

Merlin smiled through a veil of tears. “You can have ten.”

 

While Arthur stomped around in an attempt to get warm, Merlin fiddled with a wooden bottle. He uncapped it and poured its contents in the cup part. “Here. Drink this. It'll warm you up.”

Arthur sniffed the substance. It was alcohol all right though he couldn't tell what type.

“It's good for you,” Merlin said. “Just drink it.”

Arthur did while fending off Morgana's fussing over him. Once he felt warmer, he said, “All right, that peak is waiting for us.”

  [       ](http://imgur.com/aTJqCi1)

Though Arthur was shaken by the near death experience, they started again. At this point Arthur had even more reason to want to get to the top. He hadn't died. He had survived. That had to mean something. That must signify. He had to do this for Lancelot and Gwen, and for himself too. He had to prove to his father that his love of the sport wasn't groundless, that he could make a difference; he had to show himself he hadn't been mistaken in coming here. He needed to summit just as much as he needed to survive.

They finished crossing the glacier, climbing rocks abutting against the couloir that cracked the area in two. Then, they followed the north ridge ridge, and ascended more. 

With virtually clear skies all around, clouds poured down over the _Nordwand_. They came upon a steep wall, one of the last before they came to the top. They climbed harder then. Arthur's gloved hands groped a rounded rail Merlin had put there, while his crampons left a mark on liminal limestone edges and a stratum of verglasse. The piece between him and his belayer was a half-pulled-out, bent over piton. As Arthur got further above this piece, he wondered whether the pin would hold. 

They came upon the traverse, a blank and steep slab which lay on the western side of the _Nordwand_. Everything before this didn't matter, was of no consequence. The real climb, the real bid for the top, started now. Crossing that traverse made him like a true climber, like a man who'd fulfil his mission. The _Rote Fluh_ overhung above them, with the rocks below sapping away into an undercut. It wasn't an easy wall to take on; nature itself had placed itself squarely against them. 

Elyan and Leon were ahead of him, with Merlin leading the way. Valiant was behind him, belaying. The Swallow's Nest opened up at the end of the traverse. It was a snow covered ledge, scarcely wide enough to host all of them. Arthur was glad of the respite. He was looking forward to summiting, but he was still cold, and tired, and could do with a break. 

While the group reposed, Merlin fixed the lines up to the Death Bivouac. He was slow about it, meticulous, making sure that his system of ropes held. But despite that he had to stop for long sessions, perching on the smallest perches, clinging to the wall like a fly while he recouped. The wall he clung to was all brittle limestone and black ice, hard to crack, a challenge in and of itself. 

Arthur stood, took off his rucksack, picked up his ice peak and started on the wall. 

“Arthur!” Morgana said, picking herself up. “What are you doing?”

“Helping him fix the lines.” Arthur started up the wall.

“You can't.” She pulled at his clothes. “You're still weak.”

Arthur was still cold, true, and he felt less energetic than he had in the morning. Morgana wasn't wrong. But he needed to help Merlin. He couldn't let it all weigh on his shoulders. “He could use some help.”

“He can do it on his own.” Morgana always found ways to counter his opinions. “In fact that why we hired him in the first place.”

That might be factually true, but Arthur couldn't think of it that way. Merlin had proved to be more than their guide. He had given more than that. He had saved Arthur's life. He had offered support when support was needed. It went beyond professionalism. And Arthur wanted to repay it in kind. “I'm helping him.”

Arthur scaled the rock-face. With his hands and feet, he sought holds that would keep his weight. Little by little he got to Merlin. Clinging to the wall, Merlin turned and smiled. “Come to keep me to company?”

Arthur said, “Something like that.”

Together, Merlin and Arthur fixed the lines for the others. When they were ready, the rest of the group came up. In a group they reached the ramp. They only cleared it slowly because it was full of brittle ledges. On the other side rose this mighty wall-sided peak, too steep for snow, black as night, with sharp ridges and pointed summit. Past the ramp, they had access to the Traverse of the Gods. It was a lofty tract, but a very exposed position. 

The wall beneath the traverse was particularly steep and undercut, endangering the crosser at every turn. The hardest climbing came right at the end of it. A protruding prow of rock close to the edge of the Spider needed to be negotiated first. There was a good belay to be found at the far end but nothing reliable in between.

That was where the Spider began. A wall of rock with downward-sloping cracks and little else in the way of natural footholds. For the most part the climbing would not be technically difficult but it would be hazardous, for below them there was a drop of 5000 feet of clear air.

It was no place to let go. A fall would be fatal. 

By the time Arthur and Merlin had reached the environs of the Spider, the rest of the group was busy making headway along the traverse. The sky was already clearing. In the distance, thunder was gathering and storm clouds swept closer, assembling around the pillars of the Scheidegg Wetterhorn. “We need to be fast,” Arthur said, observing the changes in the weather. “Or we'll never make it.”

Merlin murmured agreement. “I'm usually all for prudence, but you're right.”

Arthur grasped the fixed rope they had laid down and swung off the ledge he'd sought refuge on. He took to climbing the spider. He used his ice pick and his body. He crawled upwards using hands and feet. Merlin went right after him, going his own way, choosing his own paths, finding his own techniques to cope with the challenge. Arthur's muscles screamed and stretched, his breath got cut short, but with every inch he was closer to the top. He strained upwards, his arms screaming in pain, his joints pulled with the effort. But at last, at the very last, he hoisted himself up, grabbed a handful of rock and was there.

He was at the top of the Eiger, breathing fast, cold to the bone, hurting all over, but he was there. The world opened up to him, a vista of rock and sky, clouds and ether. Nothing had ever been so beautiful before, nothing quite so breathtaking. Arthur shouted for the whole world to hear and the sound lost itself in the distance. This, this was living.

Merlin joined him at the summit, face dirty with debris, gloves torn in places and showing torn flesh. He had a serene smile on his face, a steady wide one, that nothing seemed capable of erasing. “This,” he said, breathing in. “This is why I do it.”

One by one they all summited, but Arthur would never forget the moment he'd been on top himself. He would cherish it till the moment he drew his last breath.

  

[       ](http://imgur.com/WRkvuHp)

“Go slow on your way down,” Merlin told him. “Descents can be as treacherous as ascents, so remember to clip everything you can.”

Arthur lowered himself swiftly hand over hand down the rope, his heart bursting with a happiness he'd never known, with a lightness he'd seldom experienced. Guilt gnawed at him too. He shouldn't have let himself enjoy this so much with what had happened to Lancelot, but he couldn't help himself. 

When he reached the edge of the traverse he noticed it was damp with molten snow. A few rocks slid by and precipitated into the depths at the bottom of the ice field, careering down the wall, clattering down as they hit protrusions. Reversing the traverse was more complicated than it looked. 

When you were below, Arthur knew, it your only worry was making it up the Spider; when you were here, you had to face the vertical descent. Arthur clipped his ropes through the line of pegs Merlin had placed on the way up and slid across the wet rock. 

The moment he got to the belay, he observed his surroundings. With the full heat of the day, water was sluicing off the top of the rockface, wetting him as well as the track. 

The sun was going down, glowing potently. Arthur gazed down at the First Pillar, and breathed the last of his adventure in. Looking behind him, he saw the rest of the group following, imitating his actions. 

Arthur took Merlin in as he swung across the wall. Sunshine embraced him, making him stand out. Arthur thought he'd never seen anybody belong on a mountain as much as him. He had to take his eyes away to stifle the emotion that thought awoke. He glanced at the horizon and marvelled at it. They'd done it. The Eiger was theirs. 

As Arthur watched on, Merlin joined him on the stance. “I know what you're thinking. Night's upon us. Down climbing is going to be faster, but I'm against it.”

“So we abseil using the ropes we laid?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said. “That's what I advice.”

They threaded the ropes through the belay, hooped them and pitched them outwards. They touched the first snow ledge and formed into a mass of tangled ends. Merlin went down the ropes first and loosened the tangled section coils as he lowered the ropes individually. When he did, a bunch of loosened rocks fell down. Arthur ducked. He had been lucky. If he had been hit, it didn't necessarily follow he'd have been there to tell the tale. Gazing upwards, he noticed that they had left the protection of the rock wall behind.

Stones had been falling almost continuously since they had left the Traverse. That was dangerous. One of them might be hit. But there was nothing to be done, however, other than continue forward. The faster they were, the lesser the likelihood of being taken out by debris.

The light was fading fast by the time the group gathered at the top of the gully leading down to the Gallery Window. Merlin pulled the ropes as Arthur threaded the next abseil point. They were fast at it and had become a good team, if Arthur said so himself. They were being the advance guard of the team, finding pathways for their descent. Since there was nothing he could do about the rock shower, he merely acted as though nothing was going on around him. 

[ ](http://imgur.com/3uLZF3k)

Merlin made his way towards him, ducking as rocks hit close by. “The ice is melting faster than I thought it would given the time of day. We need to get under cover fast.”

“Right.” Arthur began to abseil down the gully. He had a tense face but his body movements as he came down were fluid, easy. He was in control. The others, having realised the danger, weren't quite as smooth. Valiant was the only one who went on as nothing had happened, moving quickly in free flowing moves, refusing to abseil and climbing down rather. 

Arthur had been hoping they could retreat calmly and in good order, when a thud came from the first ice field. Large sized stones bounded down the ice. They clacked their way on. One hit Valiant in the head as he was completing the first section of his descent. Valiant went limp, letting go of his hold and, bouncing off rocks, fell into the void.

[ ](http://imgur.com/K9tvey5)

 

They camped below the First Pillar, missing one more man. They dined and then retired early for the night. They kept sharing tents the way they had done before, so Arthur ended in a tent with Merlin.

Merlin stripped off his rucksack and sat cross legged in a corner, a blanket wrapped around him.

Arthur took the corner opposite his and looked at him. “It's not your fault he died.” Arthur had to break the silence. “He climbed down instead of doing what we were all doing.”

“I've heard this one before.” Merlin looked up.

“And it's much the same case as before.” Except Arthur couldn't summon grief over Valiant. He was sorry he had died, he hated the fact that Merlin was blaming himself for his loss, but he couldn't say he grieved. “A mountain like this...”

“Is a trap,” Merlin said. “I shouldn't have taken you up at all.”

Arthur couldn't claim climbing a mountain was worth it when compared to loss of life. He didn't want to. But he didn't want Merlin thinking as he did. He stood, settled right opposite Merlin and covered his hand with his. He was in two minds about the gesture, feeling he should not have tried it, but also aware that Merlin needed him. But because of that knowledge he kept his hand where it was. “You made no mistakes. What happened happened. But you're not responsible.” 

Merlin prepared his bedroll, flattening it against the floor of the tent. Turning away from him, he balled up and settled in.

Arthur wished he could reach out.

*****

  [       ](http://imgur.com/QXYlqSJ)

They left the snows behind and found craggy paths sculpted out of rock, tasselled with grass as green as emeralds. Mountain brooks cascaded past, thundering away as water hit boulders. Flowers, small and white and yellow, carpeted the grass as it tossed in the wind. Clouds in the sky wrapped around the top of the Eiger; lower ones came apart at lower levels, their dark colour veering towards a deep purple barely tinged by the dying day's sun.

“We won't make it to Grindelwald tonight,” Merlin said, stopping to sit on a rock that stuck out of grass. “I suggest we find a hut and spend the night there.”

“I think we can all agree on that.” Morgana looked to the others. 

Arthur still felt the cold in his bones. He was stiff all over and his muscles screamed with every step he took. He liked to think he was fit, but the Eiger had taken its toll on him. 

The others appeared as bedraggled as Arthur felt and they all nodded their consent.

They found a hut built at the bottom of a crag. Its south perimeter edged a gully, sloping on it. The entirety of it was wooden with a sloping roof and square windows. Its chimney was smoking, releasing puffy columns of exhaust that made for the sky.

“The hut is occupied.” Elyan pointed his _alpenstock_ at it. “That's unlucky.”

“It doesn't matter, does it?”As she stopped advancing, Morgana squared herself, her hands on her hips, her upper body bent slightly forwards under the weight of her rucksack. “I'm sure whoever's in it, will take us in as well.”

Merlin scratched his head, the back of his neck. He hadn't shaven, none of them had, and he looked rough. Though he'd turned in early, Arthur knew he hadn't slept. He had been tossing and sighing too much for that. “It's worth trying.”

They all made for the hut. Though they were tired, they made it to it in very little time. They knocked on the door, but no answer came. The others egging him on, Merlin opened the door.

The _stube_ was large, wood panelled from floor to ceiling. It had a table and seats carved out of tree trunks. Checkered curtains covered the windows and a crucifix hung above a door covered with a cloth. A pot was boiling on the hearth and a tall green ceramic stove with flower carvings emanated further warmth.

A woman came in from the other room. She wore peasant garb, with an apron tied before her blue and green dirndl. It had embossed roses on the bodice and frills at the sleeves of her blouse. She was carrying a rag and washbasin. When she saw them, she startled, but didn't drop any of the items she was carrying. “Hello,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Alpinists,” Merlin said, touching his chest with a thumb then pointing to the group at large. “We've just been up the Eiger.”

Then woman put rag and basin down on the table. “Welcome. I'm Freya. I don't own the hut, but I come here often to gather herbs. You're welcome to share with me.”

Arthur said, “Thank you.”

Leon and Elyan got closer to the earth, putting their hands out. Though the temperatures down at valley level were mild, they probably still felt chill from the mountain. 

Arthur knew he did. He had since he'd ended up under that avalanche. He supposed it would take time for him to go back to normal. 

Merlin and Morgana took of their rucksacks and rolled their shoulders. Merlin grabbed a chair and sank onto it, while Morgana studied her surroundings.

“I imagine you're hungry.” Freya went to the hearth and stirred the liquid in the pot. “There's some for you as well.”

“We have our own food.” Though the hut might be communal, Freya was the one that used it the most, clearly. Arthur didn't want to put her out. They had no right to. Besides they had enough provisions to cover the last few days of the expeditions. They hadn't come up unprepared. “But thank you for your kind offer.”

“You're mountaineers, aren't you.” She took crockery from a shelf and placed bowls and shakers on the table. “You must be hungry and looking forward to proper food.”

While Arthur had rather not disturb the lady, he couldn't say she was wrong. “I--”

“You're not the only mountaineer I'm looking after.” Freya shrugged her shoulders. “Feeding you would be no bother.”

Merlin sent him a look. It was probably just a coincidence, and there was no reason to even remotely hope. Just thinking it was irrational. Nonetheless Arthur stepped forward. “A mountaineer?”

“Yes.” Freya tilted her head at the chamber she'd come from. “He dragged himself in two nights ago. He was in a bad way, with a broken leg and foot, a dislocated shoulder, and gashes all over. I took him in, of course. I set his shoulder, washed his wounds, and have been tending to him since.”

“Two days ago, you said.” Morgana started. 

Freya looked from one to the other of them. “You know him?”

“We think,” Merlin said, waiting for a nod from Arthur. “We think it could be a friend of ours.”

“Then follow me inside.” Freya led the way.

The chamber was smaller than the _stube_ , with six wooden berths in it, two per wall. The window must have overlooked the valley but the view was impeded by the drawn curtains. It was dark inside with an oil lamp burning in the corner. Even in the dim light they could see the man stretched on one of the lower cots. His leg was splinted, his foot heavily bandaged. His face, however, lay in shadows. To ascertain the patient's identity, Arthur shuffled forward.

“Lancelot.” Morgana pre-empted him to any show of surprise.

Lancelot startled awake, his eyes only slowly focusing once Arthur shifted the lamp.

“Arthur, Merlin,” Lancelot said, his gaze alighting on the others in turn. “You're all here.”

“Yes, we are.” Arthur felt relief flood his veins. Lancelot was alive and well. He'd survived the fall. It didn't matter how, though Arthur meant to have the story, what counted was that he was there at all, bruised and battered, a little broken, but alive. “We are.”

They took chairs from the _stube_ and lined them up around the bed.

Lancelot said, “I suppose you want to hear what happened.”

“You don't have to,” Merlin said, touching Lancelot's shoulder. “You should get plenty of rest instead.”

“I've been resting ever since I got here.” Lancelot gave a small smile. “I'm in the mood for sharing my tale.”

Freya adjusted the covers on top of Lancelot while they all leant forwards, settling in for a good listen.

“When I fell, I didn't even have time to feel fear,” Lancelot said. “That came later. I only thought that was it. That I'd probably die.” He pushed against the pillow. “I bounced off a rock and then impacted. I lost consciousness immediately. When I came to, I found myself in a couloir, pillars of ice either side of me, two narrow passageways cutting deep into the ice either side of me, sun and shadows playing tricks upon me.”

“It must have been terrifying.” Morgana covered her mouth with both her palms.

“It was.” Lancelot tilted his head, the pillows creasing under him. “My leg hurt fiercely and I soon realised I could not stand.”

“Merlin went looking for you,” Elyan said. “He couldn't find you.”

“I've no doubt.” Lancelot didn't frown or question Elyan's statement. “I don't even know where I'd fallen. I could hear nothing other than the sound of the wind and settling ice anyway. It roared ominously, finding crevices and whistling like crazed wolves.”

“It must have been terrible.” Leon paled as he made that statement.

“It was. And at first I didn't know how I could get out of there. Walls of ice surrounded me, white blue and gleaming, their surface completely flat, indicating no one had tried to climb hem. I looked around me and saw I'd lost my _alpenstock_ and ice pick. My leg was broken and my foot hurt. I didn't think I could move.”

“You must have though.” Arthur was sure no one had rescued Lancelot but himself. 

“I lay there for I don't know how long. Long enough for my limbs to grow numb and my face to sting. I remembered all the horror stories about frostbite. I also grew sleepy and knew that if I caved and dozed off I would die in that gully. So I took a careful look around myself. I saw my _alpenstock_ a few yards from me. I didn't consider how I could get out of the bind I was in. I needed to take things one step at a time.”

“And you were in pain all this time.” Morgana sniffled. It was rare of her to show this much emotion, but Arthur understood her. Lancelot was a team member, quite beloved by all, and what had happened to him could have befallen any of them. “Oh, Lance.”

“I crawled towards my __alpenstock__.” Lancelot's voice grew pained. “It was slow going but the cold was also numbing so I didn't feel all the brunt of the damage I suffered. Once I got to it, I was quite breathless; puffs of vapour that swiftly condensed came out of my mouth. I got to the _alpenstock_ , and broke it in two. I used one half to splint my leg and the other to help me walk. I got as far as the ice wall and started climbing. I barely could. But I used my healthy leg and arm to pull myself upwards and upwards. Slowly I saw the top of the couloir and dragged myself onto it.”

Arthur considered the logistics of it. It did seem like an incredible piece of luck Lancelot had made it in the conditions he was in. He didn't question it; he just thanked god for it. “How did you get here?”

“I went down,” Lancelot said with a tiny shrug. “I worked my way through the easiest passes. The worst was the night. It was cold and I had no tent. I was sure I must freeze to death. But I found myself an overhang. It was like the mouth of a cave but there was no cave. It was sheltered enough though. I slept for a few hours, lost in the trammel of dreams.”

“It must have been terrible for you,” Merlin said, looking down.

“I focused on getting out of that scrape.” Lancelot sent Merlin a glance full of understanding. “When I woke, I knew I had to get serious about getting down the mountain. I needed to see Gwen again. I had to make it back. So I got on my feet and started descending. I only paused twice. I ate lichens for lunch and again during an early afternoon break.” He made a face as if remembering the taste of it. “The rest of the time was spent moving. As painful as it was, I knew that I had to keep going or I'd be done for.”

Arthur couldn't even imagine what Lancelot had gone through. He'd pushed himself down the mountain while still not even certain he could make it. He had been alone and wounded. If Arthur had known Lancelot was still alive and in that kind of need, he'd have tried anything to help him. “You were very brave.”

“It wasn't bravery.” Lancelot shook his head. “It was the thought of Gwen. It was thanks to her that I made it. Little by little, I got lower and lower.” He moved in bed, the mattress creaking under him. “I used up all of my experience to descend and when I finally saw the valley, I wanted to cry.”

Morgana leant over and took his hand.

“But I had no time for that at all,” Lancelot said, “so I used up all my strength to get to the bottom of the Eiger. When I did, I was no longer aware of much of anything. I was aching too much and I was too wearied. When I saw this hut the most I could do was creep towards it.”

“I was tending the garden,” Freya said. “And I saw him. When he fell, I ran towards him and helped him inside. The rest, I think, you can guess.”

They talked some more. When reminded of Valiant's absence; Lancelot asked after him, but none of them needed to inform their friend of what had happened. By and by Lancelot fell asleep. They moved into the _stube_ , dined, and put themselves to bed, too. Arthur thanked the stars that Lancelot had been found. 

 

*****

  [       ](http://imgur.com/FZihTpN)

To wind down, they, to the exclusion of Merlin, settled in Grindelwald. By the time they emerged from their rooms after a good two days spent sleeping and recouping, news of their summiting had spread in the village. Talk of their feat made it from mouth to mouth until everyone knew.

The mountaineering community seemed dead set on celebrating the group's achievement. They called on the expedition's members to congratulate them and to know specifics as to how they'd made it. When the team members couldn't receive them, they camped outside, ambushed them at the inn, and stopped them in the streets. They wanted news of the climb, a long account, and they didn't hesitate in asking for details, and tips on technique. 

Arthur alone had been accosted at least ten times while Morgana got the most awkward questions, being the one lady of the group. Elyan's sketches had been published before, so he got enquires as to whether there would be more. The only one who eschewed interrogation was Lancelot. Since he was recuperating he was off limits. He had written his fiancée and told her some of what had happened to him. As a result, she had taken the first train available and was now with them. The two were ensconced far from the prying eyes of the curious.

After the first wave of alpinists came the journalists. They wanted more accurate reports. They wished for accounts so detailed that even Arthur, who'd been there, failed to remember. They asked for step by step précis, accurate descriptions andhounded each team member in turn to get what they sought. 

In the beginning, they answered. But by and by, they stopped. The level of interest had increased to unmanageable heights and with it the tendency to critique. New articles appeared in the local papers. Unlike those that had preceded them, which were mere accounts of the climb, they featured an arraignment of all their choices. They shouldn't have tackled the North Face. They should have tried an easier access route; their guide ought to have dissuaded them. It was their collective fault. It was Merlin's fault. Destiny had been against them, Valiant in particular.

Of course, of all the tittle tattle, Merlin focused on the pieces blaming him. While he was with them, he got more and more silent, more and more withdrawn, till he left Grindelwald point blank. One night he'd been there, sharing drinks with them, and the next he'd left the inn, taking all his belongings with him. The _wirtin_ had said he'd left when the dawn had barely started colouring the tip of houses. He hadn't accepted any refreshment. He had paid for his room and said he would not take his next group up the Mönch as he had promised. When asked whether he would contact them to reschedule, Merlin had said no. There had been a message for Arthur, though. It was written on sealed notepaper, folded over and put in a yellow envelope with fat margins. It said,

_Arthur,  
It was an honour taking you up the Eiger. I will never forget the experience or the sharing of it with you. But I must go and clear my head. I must understand what my limits are and accept them for what they are, be they only in my head or not. Of everyone, I wished I'd had more time with you, Arthur. Of all people, you've left a mark; one, I think, that will be indelible. I wish we could have talked more, that we could have had more time other than as guide and climber. But I must move away. I must find myself. It was a pleasure meeting you._

_Yours, Merlin._

When Arthur read it, he couldn't believe his eyes. He knew Merlin hadn't taken Lancelot's accident and Valiant's death in stride. He could understand why. In a sense, he was responsible for all of them. But that was only true to an extent. They'd all known what they were doing; they had all chosen to climb the Eiger, knowing full well what the risks were.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/aTJqCi1)

The station was a small brick building with arches on the front and a clock on the main prospect. The ticket hall was crowded by gentlemen with sticks and ladies with carpet bags. Arthur queued. When he got to the ticket master, he asked for a ticket for Bern.

The train crossed mountain passes and verdant valleys. It cut across hilly graze-land and low pastures. Before entering into the city proper, it slowed down in puffs of grey smoke. The neighbourhood of low houses stacked up against the river's bed, the river itself gurgling with the fullness of summer.

Arthur took the stairs to the dwelling at number thirteen and knocked on the door. He had to wait and dither a long time before Merlin opened to him. He was wearing long corduroy trousers and a white shirt, unfastened at the front. “Arthur,” he said, in a rough voice. His hair was pulled forward over his brow in a disorderly, sweaty mop. He hadn't shaved. “What are you doing here?”

“You left Grindelwald.” It seemed such a redundant statement since they were both here, but Arthur made it all the same. Anything to break the ice. 

“Indeed.” At first Merlin didn't move from the threshold, but then he let Arthur in.

Arthur stepped inside. Merlin's house was simple. The interior was all wooden with a functional kitchen on one side and a bedroom on the other. There was a chair under a window whose sashes were open and a few others scattered round the table upon which a flower vase stood. Dahlias drooped in it. “Why?”

Merlin placed his hand on a stack of newspapers that sat on the table. “Have you read these?”

If they were today's, Arthur hadn't. He'd woken up early in order to take a train to Bern. “No, but I can imagine what you're referring to.”

Merlin looked away from the pile, as though it was distasteful to him, and closed his eyes. “Then you know what they say.”

“A bit of everything.” Arthur had conned them scrupulously in the preceding days and was now largely acquainted with their contents. “From praise to criticism.”

“They say I should never have led you up that particular mountain,” Merlin said. “They say it was my fault.”

Arthur couldn't believe Merlin would give credit to such publications. “They're only discussing the matter to sell more copies. In writing their stories from such an angle they are merely trying to increase their sales by sating a blasé public used to all manner of tales.”

“That may be,” Merlin mumbled the words in his hurry to say them, “but they're right in saying I have one dead and one wounded to take the blame for.”

On a motion of the heart, Arthur started forwards, cutting the distance between himself and Merlin, and placed his hands on his shoulder. “Lancelot admitted to trying to free climb to prove to Valiant that he could. He knows he made a mistake, the wrong call. And as for Valiant himself, it was a fluke accident. You know better than me what it's like up a glacier. Ice will melt and stones will slip.”

“I—“ Merlin swallowed hard. There were tears in his eyes. “I feel responsible.”

“So do I—” As much as Arthur didn't like Valiant he hadn't wished death upon him. And every day Lancelot spent recuperating was a day Arthur wished he could be all right and that he needn't have postponed his wedding. “—but we're where we are.”

Merlin sighed.

Arthur couldn't stand him crying and Merlin was so close to tears that hewould only need a little nudge. So Arthur did the first thing that occurred to him to stop him. He moved closer and touched their lips together. When that first brush happened, Arthur's heart touched his ribs and he swallowed his own breath.

Just when he'd thought Merlin wouldn't respond, he opened up for Arthur, letting their tongues skirt and skim. Arthur was flayed by it. He'd given this passing thought, but he'd only allowed himself to see anything other than the climber in Merlin, instead of the man he was. It had been such a mistake. 

Merlin sucked on his tongue, tasted his teeth. He nibbled Arthur's lip, Arthur's chin, rubbed a thumb along the underside of his jaw. Arthur touched him in return—cupped his flank, his neck, rubbed his fingertips along his nape, held his face between his hands. Each motion put a stranglehold on his heart, pumped his blood faster. Merlin's own fingers dung into the angles of him, at his hips, at his sides. Arthur couldn't break away, not even for a breath. 

Arthur's cock tightened. He hadn't asked himself if this was wise, if this should happen. He only let it.

He pulled Merlin to him and crushed their mouths together. Their kissing had lost its softness, but it was true to the heart, honest in its rawness. It was like the mountains, all crags and peaks to get to. 

Clinging to Merlin, he felt as giddy as he had up those heights. But he wasn't afraid to look into the depths of his own feelings, as bottomless as they were. 

Merlin didn't speak. He only grunted, low in his throat, primal as nature, needy. With a few sharp tugs , he directed them to the bed. It was made, Arthur had time to notice, as he kissed Merlin, crisp.

They ended up on top of it, the linens smelling of camphor, their scent heady. They kissed, mouths and throats, cheeks and foreheads. When the desire to touch skin became more compelling, they pulled and shoved at clothing with fumbling hands, until they were nude and body to body, the warmth of Merlin underneath Arthur. 

Merlin's body was all crags and hollows, sharp angles and long lines. He was as razor edged as the Eiger itself, and just as forbiddingly keen. Entranced by the beauty of it, the spareness of it, Arthur kissed Merlin's body whole: his heart, his sternum, his belly as it filled and caved with his breath, the rugged peak of his pelvis, his cock. 

It made Merlin's body rise; it made him startle into a hardness that was that of love making. 

They twisted together, belly to belly, they kissed, they sighed into each other's necks. They were so close Arthur felt at one with Merlin, with no need for words, no need for explanations. He felt understood; one mountaineer to another, one ambitious soul to another. 

And because Merlin was both so akin and so different, Arthur wanted every little bit of him, wanted to know the asperity of him. He desired to know the ins and outs of Merlin's thought processes, of his body, to get adrift in it, in his skin, take abode in the muted spaces between his sinew and bone. 

The knowledge that he needed more became more visceral within Arthur, more pressing, an understanding that was purely physical and utterly transcendental, born of the moment. He groped blindly for the lamp oil. It wasn't cold and it wasn't warm; it had a heavy scent to it, but it would do. 

They shared a look, understanding each other's intent. 

Breathing quickly, Arthur opened himself up. It had been awhile – before London, long before organising this expedition – and it hurt. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, evidently reading it on his face. “Arthur, you don't need to—”

“Alpinists live for the rush of recklessness,” Arthur said, getting used to the feeling even as he appreciated the words in a new way. Oh, how right it was of him. In this as in everything else. “Let me have my way.” 

Leaning up, muscles straining, neck cording like belay ropes, Merlin kissed him hard, skimming his throat with his lips, with his chin, bristly as it was with his lack of shaving, with his late carelessness. 

His voice was low in Arthur's ear. "I hadn't said, but I've wanted this.” He blushed, bit back further words. 

At the admission excitement coursed up Arthur's spine. He hadn't asked before, hadn't probed him, but being wanted back was what Arthur wanted. He needed to be the object of Merlin's desire. 

They fumbled together, Merlin holding himself up, Arthur shifting so his bottom sat on Merlin's lap. Crouching low, eyes half mast, he took Merlin in. He felt the warmth of him and the girth of him, he sensed him as he budged inside, pushing deeper in. 

As Merlin thrust up, his whole body cording from shoulder to flank, Arthur groaned. He was shaking with it, with the sensation of it, with the fullness of it, and then with the lightning fast sparks Merlin lit within him. 

They built up a pace. Merlin lifted, Arthur bore down, the friction of flesh on flesh giving him the shivers, the feeling of blunt nudging exquisite. Merlin didn't tease. He went for Arthur's pleasure. His thrusts were short, snappy, to the point. Though he stayed pinned, his hips circled, swayed, rocked in fractions of a movement. 

Merlin's palm was hot on Arthur's flank, the grip of his knees tight. Arthur stopped thinking, stopped wanting anything else but living in the moment. Perhaps being up there, being on top of the Eiger compared, but only palely, because, for all the euphoria, this was better, this tethered him to the earth just as the push for the summit had made him vie for the sky. 

Arthur wanted this connection, this thing of the earth, of body and sweat and labour. And a labour it was. Harsh it was too. By then, they were all damp with mingled sweat, both breathing harshly, both lost to a frantic heartbeat. They grunted as the bed creaked; they moaned as the mattress sighed. 

Slow and deep, Merlin went, such as their position allowed. Arthur inhaled and exhaled, as he did when he had to pace himself during a climb. His muscles knotted and unknotted, the burn got rawer, pleasure mounted in a sure-footed ascent. 

Involuntarily, Arthur's hips moved, his cock bobbing in front of him, leaking and leaking. 

“Arthur!" Merlin said, chocking on his name and on whatever else he might have wanted to add. He stroked his flanks, he pistoned his hips. He set Arthur's body on fire, a crazy fire that burned around his muscles and around his heart. 

Arthur felt his orgasm building, first from afar and then closer and closer, its point of origin low in his belly.

Merlin touched him deeper, faster, and Arthur gradually tightened on him. Merlin raved incoherent words then, shook his head from side to side, hollowing the pillow, wetting it with his perspiration. 

Arthur's vision swam and his body went taut, need and pleasure mixing together in a fusion that boiled hot, melted his insides, opening up new vistas of blinding and colour. Arthur had never felt so powerful, so close to touching the skies. With his legs, Merlin opened Arthur's further up, so that Arthur sank down to the very hilt. 

There was no going anywhere else, there was nothing else but burning from the inside out, a bright fire that caught him inwards. Arthur came with barely a touch from Merlin's hand, and Merlin did on the heels of him, the flood of it wet, warm. 

Arthur breathed out as he disengaged, as he settled on Merlin's side, as he touched his spent cock, still wet with the fluids of their tryst, their bout of passion. 

Merlin closed his eyes, inhaled through his nostrils. “It hurts, but I could almost go at it again.” 

He turned his head, kissed him lazily, slow, but with a new tenderness Arthur couldn't name. They both closed their eyes. Arthur heard Merlin's breathing ease just before he fell asleep himself.

  [       ](http://imgur.com/K9tvey5)

Hours passed befire they woke, the light filtering in from the open window much weaker, the colour of spent tea, summer crickets singing the evening away.

Just as Arthur stretched, Merlin turned, his arm over his head, his hand on his naked jutting side. 

Arthur had spent all diplomacy. He couldn't equivocate to Merlin, couldn't hide behind politeness. He wanted all his dealings to him to be moved by honesty. “Tell me you're not done with guiding.”

“I don't think I can anymore,” Merlin said. “I'm not safe.”

Arthur had never heard anything so stupid before. “I don't know a better guide than you.” Arthur had had many in the past; one simply didn't climb without someone knowing the terrain. “It's the mountain that's treacherous, not you.”

“I know you can't trust mountains with your life,” Merlin said. “They play the numbers on you. They're changeable. Inhospitable. But if I'd been more prudent, things might have been better.”

Arthur took Merlin's hand and placed it on his heart. “I think you were born to climb mountains. I think you belong on heights.”

[](http://imgur.com/Hg69gfb)

Merlin's lashes came down. When he reopened his eyes, there was a new light in them. “Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps.”

 

*****

  [       ](http://imgur.com/WRkvuHp)

The sun shone fully up in the sky. Edelweiss flattened themselves in the high breeze, amid rolling grasses that made up the Grindelwald valley. High pasture land unrolled before them until it met the rock of the elevation before them. Lying on the border between the cantons of Valais and Bern, the Mönch stood between the Eiger and the Jungfrau, and was located west of Mönchsjoch, its massive base rooted in the land, its peak vying for the sky. It was a monumental mountain, part of the great north wall of the Bernese Oberland. Snow and fine gneissic rock made up the core of it. It was a mixed ice and rock ridge, very different in nature from its sisters.

“The easiest seeming route encompasses the south-east ridge,” Merlin told his group. “The climb is direct after the short, initial snow slopes, the scrambling section begins.” He shared a look with Arthur then scoped out the mountain. “Most of the rock is easily negotiated, I can assure you, but there are sections that necessitate more attention. After the rock comes the final snow ridge. It is very easy, but longer than it appears. Nobody has ever summited yet, but the peak can't be too far once you're past it.” 

The group nodded, waiting for Merlin's signal to go on.

Merlin put on his rucksack, and leant on his __alpenstock__. He took his first step towards the Mönch.

Arthur watched as Merlin and his team set of on a new journey to conquer a new mountain.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The North Face of the Eiger was only climbed in the 1930s, not in the Victorian era though the summit itself was first reached in 1858 via the West Flank. I made Arthur overachieve.


End file.
